Justice for All
by Marshmallow Moo
Summary: When Albus Potter is sorted into Slytherin, he feels left out, unwanted, and useless. But when a mysterious force threatens to destroy all that his father once fought for, Albus soon learns that it is not his House that defines him, but his heart.
1. It Takes Two to Tango

**CHAPTER ONE**

When everyone else with Potter blood in them had been a Gryffindor, that fact that the Sorting Hat had placed me in Slytherin made me feel like the Ugly Duckling; the misplaced child. I know that my father had comforted me about the possibility of me being placed in Voldemort's house, but the odd truth about my Slytherin existence terrified me still. As I shuffled down the aisle towards the Slytherin table, I could nearly feel the eyes of my older brother boring his eyes into the back of my skull, wishing to take the teasing he pestered me with back. He had honestly thought his little brother would be a Gryffindor; the truth shocked him.

I felt dirty, unclean. Everyone knew that Slytherins were all pure-blooded, pompous, evil brats. I had always struggled between good and evil, but I suppose the Sorting Hat had chosen a side for me: I was to be evil, a servant of darkness, possibly even a Death Eater. With the long walk towards the Slytherin table taking more than an eternity, my mind started to spin. _I don't belong here,_ my thoughts screamed at me, _there's been a terrible mistake!_ Yet here I was, the nasty, cold hearted Slytherin serpents smiling though their teeth at me, clapping and celebrating my joining of their house; my path towards the Dark Side. I was going to be sick. I chose a seat away from the other Slytherins, so I could get as far away from evil as I could. I did not want them corrupting me.

It took a while for me to realize I was not alone; there was another soul wishing to escape the poisonous Slytherin fangs: a first year girl. She sat even farther away from the rest than I did, though the look of her face showed not disgust, but rejection. Her dark eyes, staring solemnly at the spoon in front of her, swam with tears, as though she longed to join the other clapping serpents but felt obligated not to. Despite her obvious misery, I couldn't help notice how abstrusely beautiful she was. Her skin was the palest I ever saw a human's; almost no pigment or sign that the sun had even once touched her body (excluding her cheeks, which were flushed a soft pink from her crying). Her lips were full and thrust into an expected pouting position, a brilliant red coloring them. Her eyes were dark and brooding, wide-set and handsome. Her hair tumbled down her back in a waterfall of ebony tresses, pitch black, while curls framed her almond face. She was too gorgeous _not_ to stare, even when she became aware of her onlooker and met my gaze with an eyebrow raised, I could not look away.

"Can I help you?" she barked hotly, all evidence of her previous gloom evaporated with the heat of her anger. I blinked, collecting myself, and refocused my gaze into a challenge, my mind whirring for a plausible excuse that explained my situation. I could not let her know the real reason I sat here.

"Yes, actually," I said, having no idea where I was going with this, "I was wondering why you were sitting over here all by yourself, when you could be sitting with me by the rest of the Slytherins." Not a full lie, considering that I did wonder why the heck a pretty girl like her was sitting all by herself, and having her sit next to me would make my day, but sitting next to the rest of the Slytherins would make me sick. Oh well, I could compromise.

Her irate expression fell into a curious distrust.

"You mean," she began, her eyes becoming more and more disbelieving, "you _actually_ want me to sit with you?"

"Well yes," her question confusing me slightly, "that's what I asked, isn't it?"

The girl simply looked at me, as if she were taking in my messy black hair and green eyes, analyzing it as if my very appearance gave her reason to mistrust me. I didn't blame her, I probably looked eerily similar to a guy that was on the front cover of The Daily Prophet every day, and had recently become a prime character in children's bedtime stories. I was used to this reaction by now.

"You aren't… afraid of me?" This question shocked my thoughts into silence. For a minute I looked at her, wondering why in the name of Merlin's pants I would be afraid of a dainty little girl with teary eyes. Then I remembered her fiery greeting towards me, and the little jolt of fear that she had sent down my spine. Surely, this girl wasn't someone you wanted to mess with, but I could think of no other reason why I should avoid her.

I flashed her the happiest smile I could conjure, though close to no happiness hovered over me at this point. Apparently the forced smile looked more like a smirk, because the girl flinched. I shoved it back into my default expression, where it belonged.

"Of course not, why would I be afraid of you?"

Her wary expression slowly melted into a timid smile.

"Oh… No reason," she said, tears all seem to have dried. Her smile was full blown now, so bright and happy I felt as if I would be blinded if I looked directly at it.

"You wanna come sit with me?" I asked, offering her my arm as a gentlemanly gesture. She raised her eyebrow at my deed but accepted it, her smile remaining.

"Oh course."

We walked arm in arm over to the nest of serpents I had been too afraid to face alone. She leaned over and whispered in my ear: "By the way, I'm Victoria Sanguini. You can call me Vicky." I grinned, replying: "By the way, I'm Albus Severus Potter. You can call me Al."


	2. You've Got a Friend In Me

**CHAPTER TWO**

I knew it. I _knew_ it! I seriously couldn't believe my ears. The Sorting Hat had actually called Slytherin! For _me!_ My heart did a tap-dance inside my chest; pure happiness seemed to take the place of blood in my veins. My father would be unbelievably proud of me! At first I was worried, as a few seconds ago, when the Sorting Hat sat on my head, I heard it contemplate whether to put me in Ravenclaw or not. My thoughts screamed at it, begging for it to put me in Slytherin. As it turns out, the Sorting Hat thought my idea was better (of course). I strutted proudly over to my new house, basking in the ecstasy of the moment. With my chin high and giddy grin on my face, I greeted the welcome of my fellow Slytherins warmly. Sitting down, I had already picked and sorted out who exactly I was going to befriend and who I was going to ignore. My father had explained to me what families were good news and what families would simply get me expelled should I try to associate with them.

Porsha Plane waved obnoxiously at me from across the table. I immediately recognized her blushed cheeks and pig-snout nose. She was the daughter of one of my father's childhood friends (Pansy Parkin—Parker—Parks? I can't ever remember these things), whom had professed her love for me on multiple occasions. I played along with it, mainly because she constantly bestowed me with gifts of chocolate and Quiddich tickets and trinkets and things. Apparently we were engaged to be married, so she offered me an expensive –looking ring, crafted with gold and mixed with platinum. I sold it for a hefty price. I told her I lost it.

Looking around the table, pretending not to hear Porsha's catcalls, I searched greedily for someone else I knew. To my sinking disappointment, no other faces were recognizable. The happiness in my veins was beginning to sour. Was I to be sentenced to a lonely existence, doomed to marry Porsha Pig-Nose? I looked back at her, and to my absolute horror she had gotten from her seat and began advancing toward my direction.

"Hey, cutie!" She cooed. Bile rose in my throat.

Frantically, I scanned the table for someone to latch on to, someone to buddy up to in order to escape Porsha's daunting claws. I caught eye of a first-year girl and boy walking towards me, arm-in-arm, giggling and whispering between themselves as if they were lovers. Again I glanced back, and I was startled to see Porcha's badly lipsticked lips pursing two inches from mine. This decided it: the couple were my new friends.

"Hey!" I said, whipping my head away from Porsha's and waving at the black-haired boy and girl. The girl raised an eyebrow at me.( I couldn't help but notice something odd about her, right away.) The boy didn't greet me at all; he stared at me as though flames were bursting from my nostrils and horns were growing out of my skull. I wished I hadn't said anything.

"Yes?" snapped the girl. She seemed rather snobby, and I could honestly say I didn't like her at all. She reminded me of a ghoul, her face pale and gaunt, with stinging harsh eyes that seemed to gore right into my soul, seeing all my thoughts and secrets. I wanted to squirm in her presence.

"Uh…um…" I stammered, becoming more and more fearful of her, "I was just noticing you guys were new. If you want, I could show you around when the Prefect finishes her tour later."

The frightened boy immediately switched gears, going from fearful to disgusted.

"I don't want to be in Slytherin," he blurted, but a look of regret spread across his face as soon as he said it. "I'm sorry," he said, looking honestly sorry, "I shouldn't have said that. Of course you can show us around. I'd like that." Of course he was lying about the last. I let that fact be.

"Good!" I said, "Why don't you sit by me?"

They both looked at each other, but the boy shrugged and sat next to me with a shy smile on his face. The girl sat next to him, but managed to glare across the table at me with a ferocious intensity. I tried to stare her back, but I failed miserably.

I offered my hand to the messy-haired boy.

"I'm Scorpius Malfoy," I said, but noticing the curious look on the boy's face, I added, " I know it's a weird name. I didn't choose it. If you have a nickname for me, please use it. I hate my name."

The boy laughed, which confused me because I couldn't think of anything funny that I had said. I was about to become angry, when he said: "No, no, it's not a weird name at all!" I looked at him curiously, anxious for an explanation. "It's just…" he began, "My dad told me about you. I think our fathers knew each other when they were at Hogwarts."

My heart skipped a beat. Maybe this kid _was_ someone my father had told me to befriend! I couldn't believe my luck.

"What's your name?" I asked, hopeful.

"Albus Severus Potter. Just call me Al, though."

My world fell apart. A _Potter?!_ I gave myself a mental slap on the face. How could I have missed his green eyes and messy black hair? He looks almost identical to his father, what was I _thinking?!_ I was to stay clear away from this guy. In the words of my father: "The Potters are a distasteful group of people who are arrogant, conceited, and have a knack for causing trouble. _Stay away from them._"

"ARE YOU IGNORING ME, SCORPY?!?!"

I cringed, feeling the heat slowly rise on my face. She certainly knew how to embarrass me.

"Yeah," Al said, pointing to the mousy-haired pig that fumed behind me, "she's been trying to get your attention for a while now."

I looked at him, pleading for help with my eyes. As if he were blessed with telepathic powers, Al grinned knowingly and gave a small flick of his wand. Accordingly, my nightmares fell flat on her face, buying me, Al, and the scary goth girl time to get the hell out of there before the human pig struck again. We found refuge at the far end of the table.

"Thanks," I breathed, out of breath from the flight for my life, "I don't know how to thank you!"

"Aw, don't mention it," Al said merrily, a friendly grin spread from ear to ear. I was so wholly grateful for his help that I forgot my father's harsh warning about him and his bothersome family. Considering the horrors I would have faced had he not rescued me, I figured he was off the hook for now.

A frustrated grunt came from behind me.

I turned around, looking for the source, when I saw Porsha on her face again, although this time at the angry girl's feet, her wand pointed towards her piggy face. The ebony-haired girl smiled toothlessly at my gaping mouth, the first drop of humor beginning to appear behind her eyes.

"She's a persistent little bugger, isn't she?"

Truthfully, I was beginning to like her, and perhaps she me. I suppose first impressions are rarely accurate.

"What is all this ruckus?" The Seventh-Year Prefect towered above us, her beefy arms and giant stature looming over us as though we were but ants on the sidewalk.

I suppose my father was right: the Potters are a troublesome lot. A few minutes later, I found myself sitting in the Headmaster's office, being reprimanded for our reckless behavior on our first day of school. To my own astonishment however, I found myself not caring about my horrible start to school, knowing the Albus Potter and Victoria Sanguini (apparently the scary girl's name) were facing it with me.

(I can't wait to get the Howler from my parents.)

(Just kidding.)


	3. Pride & Prejudice

**CHAPTER THREE**

I have come to realize that whenever you are told something based on one person's experience, it ends up turning out to be the polar opposite in your own experience. For instance, my father told me that Hogwarts was the most friendly, welcoming, and downright fun place any witch or wizard could hope to go to school. This was not only a lie, but a constant, painful reminder about how my friendship level was at an all-time low. You see, one can have fun only if they have someone to share it with. My father, unlike me, had two best friends from the moment he walked into this ancient, dank castle: my uncle, and my mother. Of course then, my uncle wasn't my uncle because I wasn't even born yet, and my mother wasn't my mother for the very same reason. Anyway, his relative perspective of the school was quite different than mine, seeing as the one friend (my cousin) I was hoping to buddy with happened to be sorted into the House that was _my _ House's mortal enemy. Basically, it was my moral duty to me and to my House to cut all friendly ties toward him. My other friend (my _other_ cousin) I supposed I could've hung out with is not only a third year, but too enormously popular to pay any attention to his loser younger cousin. As such, my first year at Hogwarts began with a little more than a rough start.

Three weeks after the Sorting Hat sat on my head and shouted: "Gryffindor!", the whole of my friendship circle consisted of half the fiction section of the library, the entire nonfiction section of the library, and the dust bunnies under my bed. I don't know I contained my popularity.

The funny thing about books is, they are your friend for life, regardless of their minor flaws like being mute and motionless. You see, you can spend hours, days, weeks, even _years_ with your nose inside a book, and it will never leave you. It will continue to feed your brain with intelligent nourishment, never asking for anything in return. And even after the final page is turned and the final word is read, the book's final and most satisfying gift is everlasting memory of it. You see, reading a book is like sending a thorn into your brain. It will sit there, staying in one place at first, but eventually it will integrate and become _a part_ or your brain, as information does. That information will swell and make pathways open to beautiful creativity and ideas of your own. A book is truly a remarkable thing.

Yet, regardless of how beautiful the friendship of a book can be, I couldn't help but feel as if there was something missing in my life, a void in the center of my heart that yearned to be filled. In Potions class, I often found myself glancing over at my cousin Al, throwing pointedly hateful thoughts in his friends' direction. I didn't realize that my hate towards Scorpius because he's a pureblood and my hate towards Victoria because she's some kind of scary Goth girl was simply the result of festering jealousy. In reality, I _ached_ to be friends with them, to come to class everyday to see them smiling at me with open arms, eager to hear what I had to say.

My books never wanted to hear what I had to say.

It took all the courage I could muster to make my trip over to their Slytherin infested table in Potions. The rest of the Gryffindors glared at me with mounting horror, realizing that I was _actually _ going to talk to the serpents that had just beaten them in the Quidditch game the other day. In their eyes, I was now a traitor.

"Hey Al," I said with a seemingly cheerful smile on my face, "Hey Scorpius, hey Victoria." I tried all I could to keep the building awkwardness souring in my gut to rise into heat on my face. My sad attempt was barely successful.

"Hey Rose!" Al greeted me happily, as if we hadn't ignored each other for the past three weeks, "Wanna sit with us?"

I was immediately taken aback. Either Al had some weird, psychedelic, telepathic power, or by some miraculous coincidence, chance was on my side today: Al had just done all the work for me. I didn't need to pop the question that had been fevering me for the past several weeks.

"Well sure!" I managed to say, though it sounded way more enthusiastic than it should. I scolded myself mentally to make myself sound more casual. "It was getting boring sitting over there, anyhow."

I pulled up a chair with my cauldron and books in hand, taking a seat next to guy I knew best: Al. Victoria seemed to be very put off at my doing this.

"Guys," Al said, not addressing me, "this is my cousin Rose."

"Oh hey," the two said in unison, though Scorpius seemed at bit more open-minded towards me than Victoria did. The daggers she sent me with her stinging eyes told me very clearly that she did not like me in the least. Oh well, I could live with that. I didn't like her either.

"I'm Scorpius," Scorpius said, though I was already very well aware of his name, "Nice to meet you."

"Nice to meet you too," I said, though I was beginning to notice how overly cordial everyone was being, as though they were uncomfortable with me being there, but were too hesitant to hurt my feelings and tell me to leave.

"We beat your team in Quidditch," Victoria stated very flatly, as if she were intently saying hurtful things in order to get me to leave.

"Yes…" I agreed hesitantly while stirring my dragon's eye/toadstool concoction, not sure exactly what to say to that, "you did."

"And we'll beat you next week too, you can count on that!" Scorpius proclaimed, though there seemed to be a teasing spirit in his voice.

"Oh ho, no you won't!" My potion becoming second to my suddenly fervent discussion with this blond-haired boy, "As Gryffindor's best Seeker since Harry Potter, I can assure you that our loss to you Slytherins was a onetime deal. I _refuse_ to let it happen again."

"That's awfully haughty of you," Scorpius scoffed, "'best Seeker since Harry Potter'? Ha! That's hardly saying anything, considering he wasn't that good anyway."

"Hey!" protested Al, in defense of his father.

"Oh right," Scorpius said awkwardly, "I forgot. Well… He was a pretty good Seeker, I guess." His apology was barely believable.

"_Regardless,_" I stressed, my chin up in the air and a confident tone in my voice, "you _will_ be defeated next game. I will _crush you._"

"Yikes," he said, unimpressed, "Whatever will I do with a frail little girl on the opposite team? It makes me so frightened just thinking about it."

From across the table, I saw the tiniest sneer cross Victoria's lips. Anger quickly frothed from my blazing center, boiling over the top in uncontrollable eruption.

"Well… Well…" I fumed, now standing up, my voice gaining ferocity, "At least _my_ father wasn't a Death Eater!"

With a flip of my fiery red hair, I stormed off to the rightfully segregated Gryffindor side of the room, seething in an inferno of hatred. Draco Malfoy's son had no right to talk to me like that. As if _my _father hadn't saved _his_ father's sorry ass a million times! And to talk about my uncle like that… What a little snake! All of them, including that dreadful Victoria Sanguini, all those Slytherins were just horrible people! I _hate them!_

At first I was quite contented with my outburst. I sported a smug little grin while finishing my brew, snickering to myself as I replayed the priceless expression on Malfoy's face over and over again in my head. But then, I heard Al mutter from across the room: "You know, she's normally really nice."

Reality was dumped upon me like a bucket of cold water. Guilt slowly seeped into the pit of my stomach, settling in with a sickening feeling not far off from nausea. I felt absolutely terrible. Why had I said that? It wasn't like he could help that his father was a Death—

Steaming hot liquid splattered all over my face and robes, stinging as it got in my eyes and my mouth. Coughing, I flew off my seat and danced around, trying to cool the acidy heat that drenched me. It didn't help that the entire class was roaring with laughter, as if the sight of my being in pain was the best entertainment they've had in years. I couldn't help but notice how a certain fair-haired boy was laughing the hardest. My already stinging hot face became even hotter with embarrassment.

"Enough!" Roared Professor Doornil, his fat little fingers clutching his wand. After the room was silenced say for a few unsuppressed sniggers, the stubby little man turned to me with a sympathetic smile on his face.

"It's okay, sweet'eart," he soothed, a grandfather-like air about him, we'll git that stinging stuff off ya r'ght now." With a flick of his wand, all the potion evaporated. I was about to let a feeling of sweet relief sweep over me, when an odd prickling feeling began to break out on my face.

A gasp came from the Hufflepuff side of the room.

"She's got whiskers!"

Horrified, I ran out of the room as fast as I could and toward the nearest Ladies' Room. The mirror revealed a disgusting looking feline-girl hybrid, tears streaming down her furry cheeks. I had stupidly forgotten that the potion I had been making was an extra credit project, an advanced transfiguration potion made for human-to-feline transformations.

_I hate myself,_ I thought sourly, feeling utterly and completely sorry for myself.

Laughter came from down the hall. Class was out.

"Hahaha, did you see tufts of hair growing out of her ears?" guffawed Scorpius' voice, "It was priceless!"

"Do you think she'll ever find out that it was you who tipped her potion over?" mused Al.

"Naw, she's far too stupid for that," was Victoria's sneering response.

A rekindled fire rose up within me for that damned pureblood Malfoy.

_I don't hate myself, _ I thought decidedly, _I hate _him_!_

I gaited out of the restroom with a thirst for blood at the back of my throat. I _will _have my vengeance.

My mother once told me that love and hate often come in the same package. I hoped to God that wasn't true.


	4. Where in the World is Victoria Sanguini?

**ALBUS**

I hated being a Slytherin. It was probably the worst and most degrading thing any beat-up, talking hat could sentence you to. A few days ago, when Rose had been publically humiliated—namely by the Slytherin side of the class, and mainly by my best friend Scorpius—I felt a sinking feeling in my gut, as if I'd betrayed my own flesh and blood for even being a part of a table of bullies. However, I seemed to be the only Slytherin with this feeling, as everyone else was guffawing as if they'd seen the circus. I had tried to ask for Rose's forgiveness several times, but she never gave me enough time to state my apology; she changed her direction with a huff as soon as she saw me coming. I felt I had sold my soul over to darkness, and I could never gain it back.

_I want to be good!_ I screamed inwardly at myself, _Please, don't let me become a horrible pers—_

"AL!" Scorpius broke me out of my contemplative stupor with an overly excited squeal, immediately trying my patience.

"Yeah?" I asked half-heartedly, wanting so dearly that he would leave me alone to my own masochistic thoughts. Scorpius took no heed of my annoyance.

"She did it again! Vicky! She just excused herself to the Ladies' Room. It's like, her eightieth time today!"

I ogled at him in disbelief that he was still carrying on with his obsession with Vicky and her many bathroom breaks.

"Maybe she has a small bladder," I suggested cynically, bored with the reoccurrence of this conversation. This wasn't the answer Scorpius was looking for.

"Okay, so you don't think it's weird? I honestly don't think she's going to the bathroom just to take a whizz every four minutes."

"Alright…" I said, rolling my eyes, "_maybe_ she's got a bad case of diarrhea. I mean, _come on,_Scorps! Do you _really_ care that much about Vicky's bathroom life?"

"It's not her 'bathroom life' I'm worried about, Al!" Scorpius protested, but his overly loud exclamation attracted the attention of half the Great Hall. Lowering his voice, he leaned across the table towards me, even though I pretended to be more interested in my waffles than his weird speculations about Vicky.

"Look," he began again, "I've heard there was some dark scandal going on at Hogwarts. My father sent me a letter about it… and I think _she_has something to do with it!"

"That 'scandal' is just a bunch of fairytales," I explained, bored, "and I think you're only interested in it because it threatens purebloods. Nothing's going to happen with it, and Vicky _definitely_ isn't some schemer. She just enjoys Moaning Myrtle's company, I guess."

"Oh yeah right," Scorpius snapped, "Vicky complains about her all the time. She told me that ghost peeks over her stall."

"I mean," I said more intently now, ignoring Scorpius' last comment, "isn't it kind of a 'girl's' thing to do anyway? Going the bathroom every thirty seconds to chat with friends? She's probably just going there for some 'girl time'."

"How can you call yourself a Slytherin, Al? Slytherins are supposed to be smart, and you're just kind of being a dumbass right now."

I glared at him angrily.

"I just don't like it when people make talk bad about my friends, is all," I defended myself quietly, not wanting to tell him that I _didn't_consider myself a Slytherin.

"What are you, a Hufflepuff?" He laughed, as though it was supposed to be some kind of teasing insult. I simply grinned sarcastically at him.

"Hey guys, I'm back!" It was Vicky's voice. She turned to Scorpius with an right-sided grin, "And I _know_you were talking about me, so fill me in."

Scorpius stared at her with an expression that looked like a mixture between fear and guilt. I don't think he realized that she was joking.

"I—uh—well…" Scorpius stammered, nervously brushing his platinum blond hair out of his face, "Well, Al and I were wondering… that, uh…"

"Yes…?" provoked Vicky, an eyebrow raised curiously. I wished Scorpius had left me out of this. It made me want to punch him.

"Wewerewonderingwhy...bathroomalot," he explained, though it sounded more like a bunch of jumbled words mashed together than an answer.

Victoria snorted.

"Uh… Come again?" she was sporting a nervous, half-grin on her face. I could tell she didn't like where this was going.

Scorpius took a deep breath, obviously trying to think of a way to express his question without making her angry… Which was pretty hard to do with Victoria.

"Okay," he began slowly, "Al and I were wondering if everything was okay with you. Because you seem to be leaving… a lot," that one sentence seemed to take an hour for him to say. For Victoria, however, the snail-like speed of his comment didn't soften her anger. She erupted like a volcano.

"WHAT I DO IS MY BUSINESS, MALFOY, DON'T YOU EVER FORGET THAT!" She ran off without a look back.

"Jeez…" Scorpius wheezed, "She must be doing exactly what I suspected of her to get her all riled up like that."

For once, I couldn't disagree with him.


	5. Friend or Foe?

**SCORPIUS**

"I _know_ I had him yesterday!" I insisted to Al, who was once again becoming a persistent skeptic of anything I said or did. He never believed one thing I told him, despite the hoards of accurate and sited evidence I presented to him. He would simply yawn and respond with blatantly sarcastic remarks such as: "Duly noted," or "I'll get right on that," or "REALLY? ARE YOU _SERIOUS?"_ I was becoming more than annoyed with his disbelieving behavior, and he most likely with mine. I suppose he still couldn't forgive me for pointing out that his precious little ebony-haired doll was probably not as innocent as he thought she was; the truth always hurts.

"Listen," I began again, as if stating the word in the open air would force his mind to focus on my words, "you saw the mail come in yesterday, and there was Dragon Breath dropping off my weekly letter from Father. You remember that, right?"

Al nodded absentmindedly. He was not listening. I continued anyway.

"Alright, so _today_ I go up to the Owlery to drop the response off with him, and _he's gone._ You don't find anything odd about that?"

"Nope," contested Al dully, then added, "Owls go out for a flight to stretch their wings all the time. Your owl isn't _missing,_ he's around here somewhere. Just wait for him."

"Oh yeah? Well tell that to Ava Lovebody. _Her_ owl's been gone for a week."

Al raised an eyebrow at me in mocking distrust.

"You made that up," he said flatly, as though he were an omniscient being with all the knowledge in the universe and could therefore determine my credibility just by looking at me. I crossed my arms with a stubborn decisiveness.

"Did not," I protested inflexibly, "She's right over there, just ask her."

Al rolled his eyes, not even bothering to ask.

"Alright," he said, gathering his History of Magic books as we embarked on our trek to the next class, "even if something _was_ up with the birds—if it's some sort of supposed 'conspiracy'—then what the heck would it be about? _Why_ in the world would someone steal a pathetic owl like Dragon Breath?"

"How would I know!" I exclaimed, throwing up my hands in defeat, "Maybe they're stealing them to block all communication… Or _maybe_ they're checking to see if we 'Death Eaters' are trying to resurrect Voldemort… Who knows!"

"So, you seriously think this is an attack against Purebloods? That they would try to stop your supposed 'alliance' with Voldemort… by stealing your _owls?"_

I could tell where Al was going with this, but I decided to nod anyway, albeit with caution.

"And you think…" he snailed onward, purposefully making his statement unbearably slow, "…_Victoria_ has something to do with this?"

"Oh come on, Al!" I shrieked, "What else could she be doing with her mysterious bathroom breaks and random disappearances? You can't honestly think she's just taking a jolly old stroll around Hogwarts, could you?"

I could almost feel the seething, livid heat drifting off Al's body in angry fumes.

"No," he said firmly, "but I don't think she's as horrible a person as you claim she is. Whatever she's doing, it's _her_ business. Just leave it at that."

"_Al,"_ I pressed on, becoming increasingly annoyed at his profound ignorance, "I think you are simply too blinded by your own silly crush on her that you can't see the truth."

I immediately knew that was the wrong thing to say.

Al sped off ahead of me without looking back, either out of rage or embarrassment, or a little bit of both. I was about to run after him and plead for his forgiveness, when I figured… no. _He_ was the one who was being so stubbornly naive at the important topic at hand, and it was his own fault that he couldn't see Victoria's hateful bias towards me, blinded by his childish crush. He could go on and boil in his own anger towards me, I didn't care. I least I was _aware_ of his girlfriend's violent plans.

I took a seat in Potions far away from Al, and he far away from me. I found it enormously convenient that Victoria was nowhere to be found.

"A'ight, class," Professor Doornil announced joyfully, as he always did, "t'day we're goin' to learn 'bout vamp…." I let his lecture trail off. It wasn't important; whatever he was talking about we'd never get around to learning anyway. "…so git out yer books!"

With a disappointed sigh, rooted in the fact that we would not be learning about anything interesting today, I felt around in my bag for the three-hundred-pound Potions book which I found frequently in my nightmares. Bored, I pulled it out… only it wasn't there. In its place was a giant, book-shaped hunk of shale which proved to be even more disappointing than the lecture. As if in shock, I simply stared at it for what seemed like an eternity, not knowing what to think or do; I had paid 6 galleons for that book, and now it's _gone?_ I was about to run the chief suspects for this thievery though my head, when Professor Doornil asked:

"Where's Miss Vicky t'day?"

"Here, sir!"

A voice from behind me rang like a foghorn trying to disguise itself as bells. That was Victoria's voice.

"Sorry I'm late, sir," she began, painting herself into an innocent façade that I knew so well, "I tripped and fell down a staircase and I got a nasty cut on my arm here." She did indeed have a scratch on her arm, a very deep one at that, "I had to go down to the infirmary to get it treated. I'm really sorry, sir." Of course she had to add the last at the end, to play herself up as an innocent, naïve little girl. Gullible Professor Doornil fell right into her well-set trap.

"Ah, it's no problem at all, lass. Just sit right down 'nd open yer book to page 654. Ye havn't missed nothin'," he said affectionately, as if he sympathized with her. Everyone knew he was a tender-hearted old man with a preference for bullied or hurt students. An observant person could easily get away with anything in his class, as long as they played themselves up as some kind of loser or klutz. Obviously, Victoria took advantage of this fact and warped it to her own benefit, the little snake.

"Hey, Scorpius," she whispered, taking a seat next to me (to my absolute disgust), "I think you dropped this." She took out a Potions book from her bag… _my_Potions book. I furrowed my eyebrows with mounting distrust.

"Where did you find this?" I asked, skeptical.

"It was just lying around in the Owlery for some reason. Did you plan on using an owl for one of your Potions today?" she joked, but I remained grim. She frowned in response to my silence.

"What's wrong?" she asked, worried (and I knew exactly what she was worried about).

"What the bloody hell were you doing in the Owlery?" my voice was harsh and accusing.

Victoria became flustered by my question.

"I—uh—What? I was in the Owlery for the same reason anyone else would be, Malfoy!"—she uses my last name when she is cross with me—"I was just dropping off a letter to my father today before class, then when I was walking down the steps I tripped and fell. What's wrong with that?"

"What was the letter about?"

She frowned.

"_What?_"

"I said, what was the letter about?"

She crossed her arms and huffed angrily.

"Why do you need to know?"

I shrugged.

"Oh, I dunno. Maybe because I don't believe you were in the Owlery today."

She bared her teeth at me as if she were some sort of rabid wolf.

"Well I _was_ in the Owlery, damnit! And the letter I wrote to my father is _my_ business and you don't need to know. There's your book back, you ungrateful git."

She got up in an angry whirlwind and took a seat next to Al, where they both proceeded to stare daggers in my direction. I didn't bother to stare at them back; _I_ would be the bigger person.

I flipped open my book, eager to learn about… well, _whatever_ I was learning about, and eager to get my mind off of backstabbing enemies, when I realized something: there were no words in my book. It was completely blank, as if someone had taken a giant eraser and struck all the written knowledge in it down to oblivion. No… wait… there _were_ words on the page. They were jumbling up and swirling around into what looked like a sentence… or message. I squinted, straining to decipher what it said. Finally, the words came into focus and assembled themselves into two words that I could understand very clearly:

_Die, Pureblood._


	6. Something Unexpected

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_Hey all! I'm super sorry it's taken me about half a month to upload this. I've been busy with school and the works. :( _

_But anyway, without further ado, our sixth chapter! Enjoy!_

_-Moo

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**CHAPTER SIX**

Ah, Astoria. That beautiful, fair lily that never ceased to taunt me with her intoxicating perfume. Every movement and word she spoke was undeniably graceful, as if she were the incarnation of some divine being. Even now, as she sat in the next room, brushing her long, cream-colored tresses with agonizing care, bare and unadorned of jewelry or clothing, I was astonished by her loveliness. Her eyes… oh, her eyes! They were not merely eyes, that would be a word far too simple—almost demeaning—to use. They were… oh what were they? Clear, translucent, blue crystal, bright and clean. Sparkling, they were even. She was my life, my beauty, my other half. She was what made me wake, and what brought me home to sleep. She… was my wife.

I blinked, astonished at myself. My thoughts sounded far too adolescent for my old, creaking bones and waning hair. In fact, my thoughts had not nearly been this adolescent when I was an adolescent! Could it be, that after fifteen years of marriage I had finally… fallen in love with her?

It was true that I had nearly been forced into this marriage with Astoria as a young kid, fresh out of Hogwarts. My parents had feared for me, convinced that I was in a state of post-dramatic shock. You see, my family had been Death Eaters. It almost sickens me now that I had believed in such abominable rubbish, that I had risked my life for eradicating a group of people which had done absolutely no wrong against me. The truth is, a child's mind is so easily molded. My mind was the shape my parents wanted it to be, and I kept it there by my own will until I saw the truth. After the war… I began to have second thoughts about Muggles and Mud—I mean Muggle-borns in general. Perhaps they weren't the leeches I had originally thought they were. When I announced this new thought to my parents, I wasn't their child anymore. I was someone else, and they insisted that whoever I was I were to be exterminated. They thought my sudden change in thoughts wasn't merely a change of heart, but a symptom of post-dramatic shock. They became increasingly worried as time turtled by, and my "other personality"-- my "post-dramatic shock"—remained stubbornly fixed in me. So, as their last resort, they introduced me to Astoria.

When I met Astoria, I hated her. She was snobby, preppy, a know-it-all, and snapped at me for anything I said or did. Yet, despite my ultimate loathing of her and her soul, she was my fiancé. My parents had somehow filed a mental claim on me and insisted that they were legally in charge of choosing a bride for me—a _Pureblooded _bride—because my "mental illness" proved me incapable of making a responsible decision of my own. They had bribed the Greengrass family with half their fortune to marry their youngest daughter off to me. Apparently, Astoria did not like the idea of an arranged marriage either, as she too formed a rising abhorrence for anything me or Malfoy. We married in disgust of each other.

I've heard of stories sung by other men whose wives had been chosen by their own accord, and their wedding nights were always ones to be remembered for the rest of their lives. My wedding night however… Well, let's just say that by the next morning we were both as virgin as we were the day before. Scorpius… Well he was born almost out of duty, or moreover, _responsibly_. We both felt that a child would appease our parents and prevent feuds between the families.

I don't know why I never divorced her, or she me. I don't know why I agreed to marry Astoria, even when I had the complete right to refuse my union with her. I never, ever understood why I had the patience to come home to a woman that hated me every night, and sleep in the same bed with her. All I knew was that there was something, some, unfathomable reason why I did. There had to be. But today, as of this very moment, I finally understood why. It was because I loved her. It was because she loved me. I must sound like a simpleton, I know, but I can think of no other reason. All this time, we _had_ loved each other, we just didn't know it.

"Draco?"

She had noticed my juvenile staring, and I did not care. With my eyes fixed on hers, I gaited proudly to where she sat—pristine and unmoving like the morning dew—and took her frivolously in my arms. Her pale, delicate, rose-bud lips were taunting me, and I willingly gave in. With a passionate fire I kissed her, kissed her like I should have every day and minute and second since the moment I met her. And she kissed back. Oh, how she kissed back! If there ever were a Heaven on earth, this would surely be it.

I suddenly become very aware of her naked body against mine. To most other married couples of 15 years, such occurrences like this would be barely notable, or even noticeable. But us… This was the very first time I felt a quickening in my chest when I kissed her, when she kissed back. The very first time I felt the passionate _need_ to make love in order to fill the yawning gap between our bodies. It seemed that no matter how close I held her, no matter how fervently I kissed her, we were still miles apart. And I wanted her next to me so dearly.

I pressed her against our mattress, slowly moving my kisses away from her mouth: to her neck, her chest, between her breasts; she busied herself with removing my robes, and I found myself struggling to concentrate on both her and what I was doing at once. When Astoria had finally released me from the prison of my clothes, my heart pounded against my ribs even harder, and with one fiery kiss I—

_Ding-Dong!_

The doorbell. Brilliant.

The love in my chest was quickly churned into up-roaring anger.

"Just ignore it!" Astoria cried, and she hungrily pulled my face back towards hers.

_Ding-Dong, Ding-Dong-Ding-Ding-Ding-Din-Din-Di-Di-D-D-D-D--!_

"Alright, alright!" I bellowed, and reluctantly pulled myself away from Astoria, my few minutes in Heaven quickly evaporating into nothing but a memory.

Angry, I threw on a towel while I stormed downstairs in an inferno of fury, hoping that the solicitor or whoever it was would shamefully realize what he had interrupted, and leave red in the face.

_D-D-D-D-D—_

"WHAT?!"

_--ing-Dong!_

I ripped open the door with the infuriating power of an livid Giant, and found…

Harry Potter.

Harry Potter was standing on my doorstep.

Harry Potter was standing on my doorstep and I was half-naked.

Brilliant.

I slammed the door in his face.

Running upstairs, I ignored Astoria's inquiries on who was at the door, quickly threw on some robes, ran back downstairs, and opened the door again. To my extreme disappointment, The Saint himself was still standing right where he was, halo and all.

"What do you want?" I asked sourly, indicating that should he say anything about what just happened I would find some way to sue him out of any fortune he might have. He got the picture.

"Mr. Malfoy," he said formally, though a disgusting, smug smirk remained on his face, "I'm sorry to bother you"—he really did mean that—"but I'm here on behalf of the Ministry. It involves your son."

My mouth dropped open. Again, not what I was expecting. Definitely not. Worry quickly overshadowed shock.

"Is… he alright?" Hoping that he was injured rather than causing mischief or breaking the law. We had a family name to uphold.

Potter hesitated, causing for just a slight second, my stomach to sink.

"Well, _physically_ your son is fine… for now," Potter finally said, though it sounded more like he was reciting a cryptic message.

"What the bloody hell does that mean, 'for now'?"

"It means there's been a threat made to your son, and it seems very legitimate. Some activist group wants to kill him."

I stared at him. This was a joke. This is one of godly Mr. Potter's practical jokes that he just couldn't resist popping while he was in the neighborhood. Typical Potter.

"You are quite the hilarious jokester Mr. Potter, but I'm afraid I must get back to my business. Good-bye, now."

Potter forcibly caught the closing door and shoved himself into my house.

"I am under orders to escort you to Hogwarts Castle where you can safely retrieve your son under my protection. It is assumed that your entire family has been targe—"

"No."

"What?"

"_No,"_ I stressed again.

"Why the hell not?"

"Because I don't believe your little façade in the least bit. Now get out of my house."

Potter seemed taken aback by my statement, as if he expected me to believe him.

"I must ask you to reconsider," he said slowly, as if speaking to a toddler, "this is your son's _life_ at stake. Think about that."

"And I must ask you if you would like me to call a restraining order," I quipped, "and that means no more trips to my house. Think about that."

"Do you hate your son or something?"

"No, I can just hardly believe that you would help me and my son in any way. Wouldn't you like to sit back on a reclining chair with a can of Friz-Eaze and watch my family burn?"

"Theoretically, yes. I would," he chuckled, "but in real life no one volunteered to take this job. So I had pity on you and thought I'd have a good time with it."

"Oh, wonderful," I sighed, shoving my hands in my pockets. I was becoming increasing bored with this conversation.

"Now, would you kindly come with me so we can get your son?"

"I suppose," I agreed, defeated.

I told Astoria the situation. She cried—typical woman—and I left with Potter in a huff.

"So," he said to me as Potter and I were mounting our brooms, "you _do_ know that my son and yours are best friends?"

I doubt that any soul in all of London couldn't hear my scream of horror.


	7. Al of the Jungle

**Author's Note:** _So it's been literally a month since I've uploaded. I guess the reason for that was I was waiting for more reviews, but I only got one this last chapter. I'm nearing the half-way point in my story, and I would greatly appreciate it if readers would review, even if you aren't a member. (Anonymous reviews is turned on!) I would just really like to hear what you like, what you think I should change, or any ideas you have that would improve the story. Thanks everyone, and enjoy the longest chapter I've written yet! :)_

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**ALBUS**

I ran as fast as my gangly, weak legs would carry me, desperately trying rid the coils of my brain from dizzying shame, but shame still found me. It followed me, stalked me, _hunted_ me, until it finally pounced, claws spread wide, and delivered the fatal blow: _I am evil._I was the most disgusting, evil _thing_alive and no one would find any evidence to prove otherwise. How could any human-being idly stare at the warning signs of their friend's pending death and not even know it? How could they simply ignore danger? The fact is, they couldn't. Neither would any animal or creature with any kind of soul. The concluding, painful truth?: I wasn't human. I was a soulless, phantom demon—Satan's servant, Voldemort's spawn—and I should be dead.

The Forbidden Forest welcomed me with welcome arms—I gladly embraced it. The dark shadows offered solitude, safety from the peering, accusing eyes of other witches and wizards. No matter what foul beast I encountered within the trees, they would be small, fluffy rabbits compared to the hate behind Scorpius' eyes, and the betrayal behind Victoria's. The farther I was away from them, the longer I was away, their lives would grow increasingly happier. I could think of no other solution: I would live here. For the rest of my life.

I huddled breathlessly in the woody arms of an oak's giant roots, offering at least some shelter from the sky's onslaught of rain. I was cold; wet, yes, but my misery now and my forever miserable existence as a forest-child was my sentence, as punishment for being a menace to society. _Oh, why am I so cruel?_ I thought glumly, the _pat-pattering_of rain presenting no solace for me as it usually did, _Scorpius had warned me about Victoria, but I just_had _to ignore it. Now she—maybe even the whole school!—is plotting against him. And I could've stopped it! But…_ More guilt began pouring in, with even more intensity than the crying sky, _…but Victoria isn't a bad person! And now I've taken Scorpius' side, and I've betrayed her. I can't go anywhere without hurting someone, can I? Oh, I hate being the middle-man!_

A fierce turbulence in the sky broke my unyielding thoughts of masochism. Thunder. Great. I _hate_ thunder. Yet, despite my sworn oath to loath thunder for all eternity, that moment I had to thank it. For some reason, the noise startled me enough to shatter all notions of becoming Al of the Jungle and shocked some good, healthy sense into me: Sitting here feeling sorry for myself for a lifetime really _isn't_ going to help anyone, including me. If Scorpius is going to be murdered, then maybe I could prevent it.

_Novel idea,_ I told myself cynically as I ran back up the steep hill, _if only you hadn't been a sobbing, sniveling idiot and thought of it earlier._

I was nearing the pinnacle of the slope, feeling agonizingly exhausted and wished I hadn't sprinted the whole way up, when a blinding, sharp pain shot through my right calf. My first thought was I had sprained something from being a dashing idiot, and that my muscle was cramping from too much stress. My second thought expressed concerns for the amount of pain caused by this cramp, wondering why the heck a simple sprain should cause one to feel as if they had been stabbed. My third thought nearly drowned in panic with the realization that I _had_been stabbed, and my fourth thought remained nonexistent, because I passed out.

* * *

I don't know how long it was until I opened my eyes, but when I did I felt as though a train was plowing through my head, hammering relentlessly against the back of my eyes. Sound came to me as first through muddled chaos, then slammed upon me so hard that the mind-train began to tread against me even more. Voices; people talking, though I couldn't make out the words. I didn't even know if they were speaking English or not. I wanted to see, but I didn't bother opening my eyes very much; I figured they were useless with a migraine as awful as this. Words began to scratch their way to awareness, at first in broken sentences, then becoming steadily more clear:

"…looks like he's…"

"…unconscious for a while…"

"…unlucky, pathetic bast'rd, ain't he?"

"…awfully rude, that's…we're talking…"

Some of the voices sounded eerily familiar, but I didn't dare open my eyes for fear of looking into the eyes of some horrid beast, only to be quickly and painfully eaten alive. Instead, I waited patiently in blooming consciousness, letting the words slowly put themselves together into meaningful sentences.

"…it even happen?"

"…n't look like it…very much…"

"…looks somewhat familiar."

"I don't care. 'E was trompin' around on me property like a drunken troll. Damn idiot. 'E deserved what 'e got."

"Aw, Firenze, 'twas just a scratch! It ain't even 'urt 'im, see?"

"You two are seriously sick-minded creatures to cast a notoriously painful charm on such a small child."

"Firenze!" the two simpler-minded sounding voices cried in unison.

"We ain't mean no harm by it, swear!"

"Sure thing," agreed the other simple-minded voice, notably deeper than the first, "we thought 'e was some kind 'o baby troll er somethin'. An' the stars know we don't want them kind 'round us."

"For the Moon's sake you two!" exclaimed the obviously more sophisticated voice, "This is obviously a boy. A _human_ boy. And as it looks like, the foal of one of my former acquaintances. To injure this boy is to disgrace the entire centaur race!"

My eyes shot open. _Centaurs?_ And there they were, as my eyes frightfully beheld. I wished with all my might for them to fade away, for them to be simply a trick of the light, or apparitions from losing too much blood, but solid they stayed. And as they came more clearly into focus, despite my sudden abhorrence for these creatures, I couldn't help but be swept up in a sense of wonder. They were beautiful. Not the beautiful that humans and sexy women with large breasts posses, but a sort of majestic loveliness that no witch or wizard is capable of. The older one, the wiser centaur, sported a sleek, platinum blond mane that tumbled gracefully in the wind whenever he tossed it. His pointed ears were pierced with an assortment of jewelry that most likely indicated status and power, as the other dark-maned centaurs possessed no such piercings. As they chattered away, taking no heed to my awareness, I admired them so closely and so intuitively that I forgot entirely of how or why I got there. As soon as I remembered, the throbbing pain shot back to my brain and set fire to my nerves.

"AHHHH!" I cried, however unintentionally, and clutched my right leg as if that would somehow ease the pain. I kept on screaming, amidst all the noise secretly feeling ashamed for my low pain tolerance. Feeling ashamed that I wasn't more like my father: brave, powerful, and never, ever afraid.

"Eh, boy, what're you cryin' 'bout? There's not a scratch on ya!"

For half a second I was too stubborn to believe him, but as I let my fingers run down my leg, I realized there was no blood or knife wound. My sniffling ceased and I immediately felt a red, embarrassing heat crawl up my face.

"Oh…" I managed to choke out, hoping there was a hole nearby I could crawl in to escape my shame, "…right."

"I am greatly ashamed, young master," said Firenze, not addressing my previous episode, "You have been hurt by one of my own and as a necessary ritual, I must offer you assistance."

"Oh, uh…" I said timidly, avoiding eye contact and scooting ever so cautiously away, "N-No, really it's f-fine. I'm al-alright, see? I can get back all by myse—"

A sickening crack came from one of my legs. Not fully understanding what was happening, I looked down only to see pieces of my bone protruding from my shin in giant splinters. My mind whirred in confused terror, but before I could open my mouth to scream bloody murder, one of the darker-haired centaurs galloped my direction, taking me by the arm. He didn't bother to take me off the ground either, as I found myself being dragged along the forest floor, leaving a trail of red blood behind me. My heart pounded. My head throbbed. I wanted to scream, but I felt no pain; only sheer and unquestioned horror.

"Damn 'umans always comin' our way," grumbled the galloping centaur who held me captive, "They always comin' an' ruinin' our lives. An' that bast'rd Firenze wants to befriend 'em! Damn idiot."

He kept mumbling on and on about the indisputable inferiority of wizardkind, and I kept my mind elsewhere, desperately trying to escape the imminent onslaught of agony that was sure to come. I let my mind wander away from reality, focusing on my future children that would now never exist, that homework assignment that I had forgotten to do, how I would never be able to apologize to Scorpius, but mostly on Victoria. How I had betrayed her, how I wished I could've understood her better, and how unimaginably lovely she was. I hoped to whatever stars could hear that she would find some handsome young wizard to marry her…

_No!_ I thought suddenly, _no, no, no, no, no!_ _I am_not_going to die here! I am going to get out of here, and I am going to marry Vicky! Not some other guy. Me!_

"Hey!" I yelled at the driver, with more bravery that I actually possessed, "Hey, put me down will you?" He dropped me promptly on the mossy ground, which greatly befuddled me because I had not actually expected him to do it.

"Here we are, yer highness," he mocked cynically, "The place yer prolly gonna die. Nice, ain't it?"

"Why do you want to kill me?" I asked, showing more fear in them than intended.

"Kill you?" the centaur goaded, "kill _you?"_ He burst into a maniacal kind of laughter, though I saw nothing funny about what I had asked. "Stupid foal," he continued, "not just you, but everyone in that silly damn castle of yers. An' once Firenze gets here, kill 'im too. 'E cause way too much trouble for what that goat is worth."

"I don't understand," I evoked, trying to stall him as much as I could.

"'Course ya don't. Yer a stupid 'uman bast'rd. Ya don't understand _anythin'_."

"Well," I continued, fear nearly choking me, but determined not to show it, "since I'm so stupid, could you please enlighten me?"

The centaur snorted, but chose to grant my request anyway.

"Ya see that castle there?" he asked, meaning Hogwarts.

"Of course."

"That used to be centaur land. _Our_land. Then you damn wizards walked in an' pushed us out. An' they keep pushin' us back and back and back until eventually we won't have any land left at all."

"Why don't you just ask us to stop?"

"Idiot, we 'ave!" the centaur exclaimed, "Why do ya think I'm doin' this, huh? 'Cause there's no other way, that's why!"

"So what exactly will this achieve? You kill us, we'll just retaliate and exterminate you."

The centaur reared up in anger, kicking his legs and nearly hoofing me in the face.

"Stupid, stupid, stupid! There'll be no more life fer us, anyhow! We do nothin', they kill us. We do somethin', they kill us! I'd rather do somethin' and go out with honor than dyin' with me tail between me legs."

"Well how about you let me go," I proposed slowly, thinking of a plan as I said it, "and I'll talk to the headmistress of Hogwarts about what's going on. I'm sure they'll listen more openly to one of their own."

"I splintered yer leg, idiot," the centaur sniffed, "even if you do manage to get back, they'll see that leg 'nd want our blood."

"I'll tell them it was an accident."

"No ya won't. I see lies behind yer eyes. I can see the hate for us behind them. Ya want us gone, just like the rest of ya."

"Truthfully I want your kind to live in peace so no more hurt comes to ours. If we both live peacefully then the hate will dissolve."

"Do ya, now?" he asked rather unpleasantly, though I could tell he was inwardly debating the thought.

"And I just want to get back to my Victoria."

The anger in the centaurs face melted.

"Victoria?" he asked softly, "is she your mate?"

I was taken aback by this change in attitude.

"Well…" I began uncomfortably, "I hope so."

Tears welled up in the centaur's dark eyes.

"I used to have a mate," he blubbered, "'er name was Moonshine. She was beautiful… but she died!"

"Oh dear," I said rather unsympathetically, "I'm sorry."

He broke down crying.

He stood like that for a while, his hands covering his face in obvious agony. Despite my feeling fairly sorry for the creature, I couldn't help but hope that some rescue would come for me while he was distracted.

Rescue came.

"Zelnar! I order you to bring the young foal to me!" It was Firenze, thank Merlin.

Zelnar didn't seem to notice Firenze and kept on crying relentlessly. In response, Firenze trotted towards me and gently lifted me on his back.

"Are you in great pain, young one?"

"Honestly, I don't feel a thing."

"You will, quite soon," he said bluntly, which did not relieve me in any way. "And Zelnar? I'm afraid we're going to have to execute you, on charge of plot to kill innocent children."

"No!" I protested. Firenze eyed me curiously. "No, don't kill him," I repeated, "He's been wrongly treated. Wizardkind at least owes him and the rest of the centaurs some consolation for the way we've treated you."

Zelnar, Firenze, and the rest of the centaur herd that arrived stared disbelievingly at me. What followed was an awkward silence in which I wasn't sure was a good sign or a sign that I was about to be trampled.

"You are most positively the most noble human foal I have ever met," commented Firenze at last. I nearly fell off the centaur's back in shock. Noble? I was no such thing. I was a horrible person… wasn't I?

"Al!" a familiar voice called from far in the distance. I peered into the fog to find a cluster of undefined shadows coming my direction, "Albus Potter!"

At first I was reluctant to answer the call, but then I saw a tall, gangly man with unruly hair and glasses step out from the fog, and all my troubles seemed to wash away.

"Dad!" I cried, "Dad, I'm over here! Dad!"

He saw me, and he ran with open arms. Worry and stress was painted all over his face, but disappeared once he found me. There were other that followed him, but I only wanted to see my father. He took me off Firenze's back and embraced me so tightly I felt I was going to suffocate.

"Oh, Al! You really shouldn't scare me like that, young man. You really shouldn't."

"The Boy That Lived?" I chuckled half-heartedly through tears, "Scared?"

He chuckled too, and holding me tighter he answered: "Yup."

* * *

It wasn't long until my splintered leg began to sing with pain. Dad took me to the Infirmary where the nurse treated me (however unpleasantly) with some spells and good rest. It wasn't long until Scorpius and Vicky showed up, worry spread all over their faces.

"Albus Potter!" wailed Victoria, and flung herself on me with more emotion than I'd ever seen come out of her. "I was so worried, you miserable punk! I was so _worried!_"

And while she was discussing heatedly the qualms I distilled in her, I felt a warmth spread from my center, like a little sun springing up from a black abyss. I couldn't quite put a name on it, but I swear it had something to do with her feeling worried about me.

Scorpius was a little more discreet about his emotions.

"You some kind of an idiot, you know," he said flatly, "going off and prancing around in the forest like a caveman. You _would_ do something like that." Then he smiled, "It's good you're okay though."

"You're not angry at me?"

"For what?"

"For... you know, not believing that someone was targeting you."

"Oh come off it, Al! You really are melodramatic. Why would I be upset about _that_?" he snorted.

After they were gone, my father patted my head with a prideful smile on his lips.

"What?" I asked him, wondering why he was suddenly so happy.

"That was a very brave thing you did back there, you know."

"Brave?" I nearly choked on my milkshake, "Dad, I'm anything but brave. You know that. That' why I was sorted into Slytherin."

"Now that is not true at all, Albus _Severus._ You remember what I told you, right? How Severus Snape-the _Slytherin_-was one of the bravest men I've ever met? I'd think if he were the meet you now, he'd be _very_proud of you." I smiled. "And you know what the best thing is?"

"What?"

"_I'm_ very proud of you."

Joy spang up within me like a fountain. Harry Potter? Proud of silly old _me?_ My smile shone like diamonds.

"Now," continued my father, "let's talk to Headmistress McGonagall about helping those centaurs, hm?"


	8. Suffocation

**SCORPIUS**

"But I don't want to!" I protested to my father, who was attempting rather unsuccessfully for me to go home with him. It was unbelievably selfish of him to take me out of school—to forsake my precious education!—simply so Mr. Potter would stop annoying him. How implausibly self-centered of him. If I skipped a month of school, or even a few weeks, I may not be able to get a job after my 7th year. I would be completely helpless, and perhaps even be forced to live on the streets and work for _food!_ This could _not_ be happening to me.

"Scorpius, listen," he requested condescendingly, "It's either go home and live happily—with flowers and rainbows and unicorns—or stay and die. Get it?"

"You know, I really don't appreciate that," I huffed, crossing my arms with obvious angst, "your patronizing tone. It gets annoying after eleven years."

"Oh, hush, son," he barked back, "I've only done it for _seven_years, since you were able to _feel_ patronized. It's hardly any fun otherwise."

"Yes," piped in Mr. Potter, "I think it's the best idea for you to go home with your father, just until we can sort out the problem."

"Problem?" I snorted, feeling resentment for his barging in on a private conversation, "I don't see the problem. Where's the problem? The only problem I see is your over-sensitive sense of fear for something that _isn't even happening!_"

"Well, that's makes me completely insane then," stated my father in evident sarcasm, "because I distinctly remember you showing me a book which specifically read: '_die Pureblood'._ But apparently that didn't happen."

"Oh come off it, both of you!" I shrieked, "It was probably an idle threat! Whoever sent that to me probably doesn't have the guts to do anything else, seeing as it's been a week since the incident and nothing has happened to me. Besides," I added, "I don't want to miss any of my education."

"Education?" my father scoffed, "When the bloody hell were you interested in that?"

"Apparently since now."

"Alright, alright," said Harry Potter, sighing tiredly, "perhaps the Ministry could arrange for you to stay here?"—I beamed in pride of my success—"Under supervision, of course." –My smile died miserably.

"What?" I pleaded, "Mr. Potter, you have to understand that I'm perfectly safe here! By myself!"

"You are only a first year, young Mr. Malfoy. I'm afraid you wouldn't be able to protect yourself from a hoard of highly trained Dark Wizards, now could you?"

"Oh please, how on _earth_ do you know it's that? Has someone _told_you? But I suppose since you're a Saint you just divinely know these things, don't you?"

"I see you have inherited your father's keen sense of wit, haven't you?" Potter said, however scornfully, "And no, I did not hear a divine voice from the heavens tell me the situation. Close though: it was the Minster of Magic, actually, who was told by the headmistress, who was told by Professor Doornil, who I presume was told by you. Funny old world, isn't it?"

"There's the problem, though," I pointed out, "I didn't tell Professor Doornil about a hoard of Dark Wiz—"

"Yes, but your book did," he interrupted impatiently, "There have been other books found like this in Hogwarts, Scorpius. Many of the pureblooded families who were related in any way to Death Eaters were targeted. Do you know the girl Porsha Plane?" I nodded. "Well, her father was just killed the other day, and I doubt this is any kind of coincidence."

Both my father and I were shocked at this. I had noticed that Porsha had been missing, but I was too busy rejoicing for her absence that I completely disregarded _why_ she was gone. She was probably at her father's funeral. Apparently my father had not gotten the news either.

"That's odd," said my father quietly, "I didn't see the article in the Daily Prophet."

"That's because it wasn't in the Daily Prophet," explained Harry Potter, "You see, the paper still hasn't grown out of its old habit of censoring _distasteful_articles."

We all remained glumly silent at this, no one knowing exactly what to say in the awkward quiet. Mr. Potter finally broke it:

"Anyway, I suppose I should get a few more Aurors from the Ministry to come down here to Hogwarts. And you should get your wife down here too, Malfoy," said Mr. Potter, addressing my father, "We should have the entire family in one place."

"Oh please, Potter," sighed Father, "You don't have to babysit me or Astoria, though I'm sure you were more than happy to oblige. Scorpius here is the only person that needs babysitting, don't you darling?"

"Shut up," I spat.

"There, see?" he continued, "What a lovely child. Anyhow, I was expecting to go home and back to business, if you don't mind. I've had my share of Dark Wizards in my day, Potter, and I certainly know how to deal with them. Tata, now!"

"Really, I don't mind staying here," commented a familiar voice. We all whirled around to face my fancily dressed Mother.

"Astoria?" exclaimed my father.

"Mother?" exclaimed me.

"By Jove, how did you get here?" my father choked out, his voice a conflict between relief and annoyance.

"I have a broom, darling," she said in her usual sickly sweet voice. It made me sick just to see her. "Why don't we stay for a few weeks? It certainly won't hurt anybody, will it, Pumpkin?" she smiled through her fatally bright teeth, a cigarette hanging casually between her well-manicured fingers.

"And I suppose while we're here, we can keep track of the threats being made, maybe even find the source," continued Mr. Potter as if nothing had happened. But for me, my whole world was crumbling to black oblivion.

_Not Mother,_ I screamed in my thoughts, hoping desperately that some cosmic force would hear, _anyone but Mother!_But Mother was here-in the flesh!-and no matter which way I squirmed, there was no way I could wriggle my way out of it. This was reality.

"I must ask you though, my dear," she said to Father, a fatal venom injected in her veneer of a smile, "why _did_ you insist on me staying home? You know how much those house elves annoy me."

Translation: _You sick, bastard. You always leave me alone because you hate me don't you? Admit it, you bag of shit! I'm always alone, always! You and that stupid kid of yours are always plotting against me! Damn it, I should just divorce you shouldn't I?_

"I just wanted to make sure you were safe, darling. Dangerous business dealing with this radical group. Who knows what they'll do," my father replied.

Translation: _I didn't want you near my son, you ungrateful serpent. I was_going _to take him out of Hogwarts and find a new home, away from you. God, I hate you. I hate you_so much.

They smiled awkwardly at each other.

"Oh," Mother said through her illuminating teeth, "how very kind of you."

Translation:_I hate you more._

I never told anyone about the real reason I love being at Hogwarts. It's incredibly shameful, facing reality. If anyone were to ask why I never went home, I would say: "Well, I can go home anytime. It's much more interesting here." In all truth, I love Hogwarts solely because it is a substitute for my home, only without bickering parents, endless fights, and an endless vacuum deprived of attention. Here, I actually had human beings to talk to. Back in Hell (my word for "home"), I have only the mirror to talk to, which is trained only to say things like: "My, you look beautiful today!" or "How would you like your hair, sir?" Well, I suppose it's better than nothing.

I walked away from my parents without saying a word, inwardly grieving the one chance of freedom I had here. There was a time when I was so adamant on making my father proud, of somehow showing my mother that I was more than half her cells combined with my father's. I thought that maybe… maybe if I do what they ask, or became the Head Boy, or became a Seeker… maybe then they would love me. Maybe if I were _better_, they'd care. But in the few months I have already spent here, I came to realize that they will never appreciate me. They will keep asking for more and more until there will be only the juices in my body they can suck dry.

A revolution in my thoughts occurred: I. Am. Alone. That's it. I'm a loner and me is all who I can ever trust. Welcome to the sad and undeniable truth.

I walked somberly with my hands in my pockets, feeling hate for ever living and unloving object that I passed.

_I hate you Ama Lovebody,_ I thought as she walked by, completely unaware of my deathly glare, _I hate you, cobblestone floor. I hate you… ceiling. I hate you… door. I loathe you… doorknob._I was running out of things to hate, so I had down in defeat on a nearby bench. I was hoping for complete solace, ideal for undisturbed hating, but a certain Ginger kid made that plan impossible.

"Well, look who it is, sitting all by his lonesome with only the dust bunnies to keep him company. What happened, did your friends finally get tired of you?"

"Oooh, you think you're so clever don't you, Weasley?" I snapped back, "Well I would watch what you say, considering I don't see any of _your_ friends around either. What happened, did you scare them off with your whiskers and fur?"

She reared up in anger and bared her teeth, like only the infamous Cat-Girl could do.

"You'll get what's coming for you sooner or later, pureblood." She walked off without another word, a sly little smile peeking through her lips. I began chuckling at her lame comeback, pleading for her to come back and try again to save her honor, when I inhaled… and there was no oxygen. Baffled, I inhaled again, and only carbon dioxide filled my lungs. I began to panic, my heart beating savagely against my rips, which ironically caused my precious oxygen supply to deplete more quickly. I grabbed my throat and hacked desperately, as if that would somehow cause oxygen to return to my lungs; it didn't. Blackness began to creep around the edges of my eyes; bright, colorful spots began dance and glitter on my vision like a cruel circus, celebrating my departure from earth. I pounded on the cold, unwelcoming floor in a frantic attempt for someone to answer, to help, but no one came. By this time, my entire range of sight was enveloped in a black curtain; I couldn't see, I couldn't hear over the noise of my screaming heart, I couldn't feel. The only life that was left in me was my thought, and that too was draining from me…

…And suddenly it was gone. Oxygen swept back into the air, and my lungs hungrily devoured it, tasting sweeter than anything I had ever tasted before. Before I knew what was happening I heard my father calling my name:

"Scorpius? Scorpius, son, are you alright?" he seemed honestly worried. He sat me up on the bench and swept my hair back nervously. "It sounded like you were suffocating."

"Yeah… I was," I wheezed, my voice sounding no more than a harsh whisper, "it was like the oxygen was just sucked out of the air."

"Blimey…" Harry Potter said in response to my testimony, "…that's not good. That's not good at all."

"Really?" snapped my father, "I never would've thought. You sure are a genius, Potter."

He ignored this and continued, "The _Nullaeris_ curse is notoriously used in coloration with the Dark Arts. It was banned hundreds of years ago and it hasn't appeared in any books since. Or least that's what I was _taught._" He stared off into the distance, as if contemplating the situation at hand. "Scorpius," he addressed me, not even bothering to look my direction, "did anyone pass by you before you started to suffocate?"

"Sure. That disgusting ginger Rose Weasley."

Harry Potter was suddenly broken from his meditative thought and stared at me with mounting horror: "_Rosie?_"


	9. Justice for All

**Author's Note:** _Yikes. It looks like I haven't uploaded in over six months. OUCH. I'm terribly sorry to all my faithful fans, whom I have probably lost by now, but I will try and upload at least a chapter a week from now on. You see, I was so busy studying for school this last semester that I just didn't have time to commit to my passion. But now that I have the summer, I can write happily all I want. I hope you enjoy my latest, and longest chapter yet!_ **-Moo**

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* * *

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**ROSE**

* * *

_Today:_

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* * *

_

"That's my girl!" boasted my father as Uncle Harry proceeded to explain the current mess of a situation at hand, "Blimey, Rose, you really are a true Weasley. Hate for the Malfoys runs in the blood, I guess." He patted me proudly on the back, a giddy little smile spread all over his freckled face.

"Don't encourage her!" patronized my mother, pointing her wand and a set of angry eyes in his direction, "The Malfoys are still a wretched family, no doubt, but that doesn't excuse her use of a deadly outlawed curse! Not only could that get her _expelled_—" she continued, spitting out _expelled_ as if it were the dirtiest curse on the face of the planet—"but she nearly killed someone! I can't express how utterly ashamed of you I am."

A mixture of hatred and frustration welled up inside me; I wanted to lash out at them and scream and yell with all the strength my lungs allowed me, insisting that they understand this terrible mistake, but _of course_ the word of a child is never reliable. To them, I was guilty no matter what I said.

"Rosie," my uncle said, disbelief evident in his disappointed frown, "_why_ would you do something like this? What on earth has Mr. Malfoy done to you that made him deserve to be suffocated to death?"

"Idiot, he didn't die," I spat sourly, not fearing in the least my mother's soon-to-come lash of anger for my discourtesy.

"Rose Weasley!" my mother squealed promptly, just as expected. I said nothing.

"Alright," said Harry, irritation mounting in his constricted voice, "so he didn't die. But why would you _try_ to kill him?"

"I didn't. I already told you," I answered, feeling increasingly bored that my uncle was not receptive to this answer, though I had already told him over thirty times.

"Aw, Rosie, don't deny it," sighed my father as he reclined back in his chair, a bag of popcorn resting contentedly on his round stomach, seemingly not a care in the world as he emptied the bag's innards hungrily, "Be proud that you stood up to that rotten, pompous brat. I bet you taught the little bogy a lesson, huh?"

"Dad, for the last time it wasn't me!" I screamed, the steam in my kettle finally squealing free. I couldn't stand this bogus any longer. "I mean, all you have is his word against mine. There's _no evidence._ I was just walking past him, when all of a sudden I heard him blubbering like a sodding idiot. I didn't know what to do, so I ran up the hall to tell someone, but apparently you had already gotten to him. I did. Not. Freaking. _Do it_."

"Ha-ha, Rosie's gonna get expe-elled!" erupted Hugo's joyful voice from the other room, soaring into the room with a sheet on his back, skipping manically like an asylum escapee.

"Hugo, we told you to stay in the other room!" complained my mother, obviously worn out by the weight of two viscously unruly children. Of course my annoying little snot of a brother paid no heed to her, and continued to taunt me with his ridiculous Superman cape, jumping obnoxiously like the world was his personal trampoline. The heat of infuriating anger swelled up quickly behind my eyes, releasing itself in a torrent of tears.

"Oh, you're just horrible! All of you! Just leave me alone!" I cried, storming upstairs to the comfort of my room, forcing my mind into an imaginary realm where family believed in your every word, and where the Malfoys never existed.

* * *

_Three Days Ago:_

_

* * *

_

"So there I was, cornered in the path of a rabid werewolf, when I saw a dark figure approach from behind me. At first I thought it was help, so I cried for them to come save me, but as the figure moved into the moonlight…" the hoard of girls clustered around him gasped in horrific suspense as James continued to spew his farfetched fairytale "chick-magnet", "…it was a _vampire!" _Promptly, every one of them squealed in terror. I rolled my eyes with an exhausted _humph_, tired of this excessive child's play, and noisily left the Gryffindor table without even finishing my lunch. I hoped that James would notice my absence and come looking for me, but as expected, his popularity occupied so much of his brain that he no longer had any room in it for anything (or any_one_) else.

The _click-click_ of my shoes against the cold stone floor distracted me at least somewhat from the welling pain of loneliness that was seemingly an omnipresent cloud that loomed over me. Most of the time I tried to cover it up by reading and reading and talking… but today I had read all my books, and there was certainly no one to talk to. And so the icy grip of solitude clawed my heart, and drug it down to the coldest region of the arctic circle, drawing me deeper and deeper into a frosty stupor. There, I let my mind wander for some time.

Eventually, however, I came upon another poor soul who seemed as frost-bitten as I was: Scorpius Malfoy, that pompous mutt. A river of hatred poured through me as I glared at him from across the hall, as I still hadn't had the will to forgive him; not yet, not ever. Fortunately for me, I wasn't the only hater of the lousy pureblood and his family. I grinned a toothy grin with the realization that the JFI had targeted him next. Now, I suppose, was the last time I could tease him before he was… _dealt_ with. With my head held high, I trotted over to bench which he had made his throne and smiled as cynically as I could manage.

"Well, look who it is, sitting all by his lonesome with only the dust bunnies to keep him company. What's the matter? Did your _friends_ finally get tired of you?" I pressed _friends_ probably more than I should've, but I hoped so dearly for him look up at me with teary eyes and sputter: "Yes, yes they did. I have absolutely no friends at all, and I am the loneliest person on earth!" I nearly prayed he would say so, just so I could know I wasn't the only one who was so pathetically lonely, but God must have been sleeping.

"Ooooh, you think you're so clever, don't you, Weasley?" he snapped, not saying a word I wanted, "Well I would watch what I say, considering I don't see any of _your _ friends around here either. What's the matter, did you scare them off with your whiskers and fur?"

A stabbing pain ripped through me. Not physical pain, but a phantom pain which cut through the very fabric of my being, whatever that was. It hurt. It _hurt. It hurt!_ And I became so furiously angry that it took all I could to prevent myself from spewing a row of hateful words and spells at him in all my rage, but I knew that such an act would get me promptly and shamefully expelled. So, in compromise, I grinned curtly at him, adding haughtily as I walked off: "You'll get what's coming for you sooner or later, pureblood."

Now, I had known that the JFI was after Malfoy; I had _known _that for sure, but what I hadn't known was that they had already organized and executed the plan, and did so without doing so much as mentioning it to me. And so it was to my utter shock and horror as a flurry of chocking and sputtering erupted from behind my back only a few seconds after I had turned it.

I didn't know what to do. Terror froze me so cold that the clock of time itself was forced to cease its ticking, but nothing could freeze the inferno of questions that blazed inside my mind: Was he dead? Is he dying? Is this my fault? Is he okay? What will I do? Am I a murderer? Will I be _expelled_?

NO. I would not, will not, COULD not, let myself be expelled. So I ran. And ran. And ran. And ran, with no specific intention on where to go or what to do. I just let my legs unconsciously guide me away from whatever happened behind me, from whatever curse or foil or prank or spell that was cast, from whatever weight that might have been placed on my shoulders. I ran like a coward. I ran like that Slytherin _slime_ would do. And I hated myself for it.

Of course all this inward self-loathing had taken up so much of my consciousness that I had completely neglected to reserve a portion of it to watch my surroundings; I promptly tumbled in to Ms. Jumble, the head of Hufflepuff.

"Goodness, girl! Where you going with all that energy?"

I didn't know what to say. What do I _say?_ All that frozen time has suddenly melted and began catching up at turbo speed. Everything seemed like it was going 10 times its intended pace, and the words belched out of me at the same velocity.

"''mscaredandIdon'—"

"Whoa, hold your horses, sweetheart, and tell me what happened _slowly_ and—"

"THIS KID IS DYING!"

She didn't ask me many questions after that.

* * *

_One Week Ago:_

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* * *

_

"So, are you in?"

I was completely uncertain at what this question constituted, whether it meant precisely what we had gone over, or be veiling something far more complex beneath those four words. A small, writhing little worm of doubt crept into my gut, forcing me to scrutinize this person's trust. I had to make sure.

"So like, what exactly do you mean, 'are you in'?" I asked, using all attempts to appear dumb.

"What are you talking about?" Abel snapped, clearly frustrated, "I meant just exactly what we went over: You'll distract the lousy pureblood while we get ready to fire. While he's talking to you, we'll cast the spell from behind, and you'll run off calling for help. Anna and I will do the same thing, running the other way, and tell them the story we went over."

Regret was biting at me sharper than a knife. I didn't want to do this.

"You know, how about I cast the spell, okay? I'm much better at it than you, and I simply just _don't _ want to be in the path of whatever it is you're doing. Sounds like I might die. And I don't like that."

His green eyes seemed to turn blue with frosty hate.

"You're a coward."

"What? No I'm not. I'm just being realistic. And—and smart. There's nothing wrong in that."

"You're no Gryffindor, you lousy, yellow, coward. God, you make me sick."

"No—no!" I buried my face in my hands and sighed with mounting irritation. I was blowing this, and I _would not_ let that happen.

"Okay… Okay," I continued, trying my best to repair this mess of a situation, "I'll do it, okay? But I don't want caught up in the spell, and I DON'T want this to be on my record. If you guys get doused with Veritisserum, you know we're dead, right? Just make sure that doesn't happen. I don't want my education to be sacrificed because of this."

"Oh, come on, don't you know we've thought of that? Anna has already come up with a successful memory hex that will erase all memories of this event out of our heads. We won't remember anything but the story we made up!"

Awesome. That's good.

And yet it wasn't. I couldn't put my finger on it, but something just wasn't right about this whole situation. They weren't telling me something.

"Okay, just one more thing."

"Yeah?"

"What spell will you be using?"

He didn't seem fazed by this and answered as quickly as if he were reading from a teleprompter.

"Oh, just a handful of simple charms. Nothing really. He'll just be sick for a few days."

"You know, all those other Death Eaters have been killed."

"But not the ones _here_! Why would we do that? There's no justice in killing a kid. We're called the Justice for Injustice, remember?"

"Okay, but what charms _exactly?"_

"I told you: _NOTHING."_

"You can't make a person sick with '_NOTHING_'," I added, my suspicion growing as exponentially fast as the rabbit population in spring.

"We're using _Nulaeris."_

I was about to thank him for answering me, when my brain processed what he had said. "_Nulaeris?_ Isn't that…"

Dread ran down my spine as if it had rained from the heavens.

"_…Dark Arts?"_

"Yes. _Mal Recordatio." _–The memory charm.

And with a flick of his wand and an expression painted on his face as blank as Paris Hilton's brain, it all went black, and my memory faded.

* * *

_Two Weeks Ago:_

_

* * *

_

Getting his book _out _of his backpack was the hardest part.

Abel and Anna—the two flamboyant twins who had assigned me this important task—had made it obnoxiously clear to me that the most difficult part of the ordeal was aligning the spell to the perfect position before casting it (a perfect 34 degree angle was necessary), otherwise the entire mission would be a failure. At this point, doing that seemed like a piece of cake.

You see, Scorpius Malfoy and I have been bound as fervently sworn enemies—most likely for life—and our opposite magnetism towards each other made it physically impossible for me to even throw him poison-filled glares, let alone grab one of his books. The sheer impossibility of it threw me deeper and deeper into frustration every moment I thought of it, days before I even attempted the stunt. How on earth was I supposed to befriend the slimy, Slytherin, Death Eater creep in only a few days? The questions never ceased pouring in, and I could've sworn I felt my skull crack from the pressure of them.

I decided I had to take a walk. A long walk.

The cool November air sunk lazily down the stairwell to the Owlry as I climbed for no other reason than to climb, trying to rid my head of both frustration and fear. Thoughts in my head seemed to echo off the walls, as if the world could hear every inch of my qualms, but every human being remained ignorant of it; _How?_ I thought, _how, how, HOW?_

Suddenly, I tripped and stumbled over a small, somewhat dark figure and hit its face hard against the icy cement.

"_Ow!"_ It screeched, in an all too familiar snooty voice.

"_Victoria?"_ I coughed, happy with the realization that I might've broken her nose, "Are you okay?" Of course I asked this half-heartedly, because Merlin knows I would've cried in disappointment had she not at least bled a little.

"Am I okay?" she spat, stumbling to her feet, a stream of red trickling from the corner of her mouth, "You bitch, you could've killed me!"

"Sorry," I said, with a hint of sarcasm, "I just couldn't tell you apart from my shadow."

Victoria glowered at me as if she were saying: Ha ha, you're so very hilarious, half-blood.

"Look," I continued, expending all my might in the attempt to cover up my glee in her pain, "you're bleeding. You should probably go down to the nurse—"

"No, no, no, no," she interrupted viciously, "I do _not_ need to go down to the nurse, okay? I'm perfectly fine. It doesn't even hurt."

My joy faded like a raincloud blocking the sun.

"Oh."

I lowered my eyes in disappointment, but perked up immediately when I discovered something odd: her nails, fingers, and arms were sprinkled in blood, yet I saw no sign of scratches, cuts, or anything on her that would indicate where that blood came from. Suspicion quickly enveloped my thoughts.

"So…" I began slowly, "What exactly were you doing up here?" My tone was not meant to be accusatory, but it was, despite my intention.

Victoria curled her lip in an emotion which I could not identify; either disgust, embarrassment, pain, or all of the above.

"Why the hell do you want to know? I was just minding my own business, and then you have to barge up here and disrupt everything good and happy in the world. Now go away before I make you."

When I answered her only with a mocking snort, she raised her eyebrow—a sly grin spreading slowly across her cheeks.

"Besides," she began again, her crooked smile finally maturing to adulthood, "what are _you_ doing up here? Aren't you supposed to be in Potions class?"

"Aren't _you_ supposed to be in Potions class?"

"Oh," she laughed, however spitefully, "I guess we could spend all day at this game, couldn't we?"

Victoria rolled her eyes as she continued to giggle in the most haughty manner possible, picking up her spilled books all the while.

"Well now," she said when she was done, her eyes swimming with contempt, "Tata, _dear_."

She emphasized "_dear" _in such a way that suggested she meant it in the most opposite meaning of the word. I whispered a few well-deserved curses at her underneath my breath and kicked the ground in anger; she _completely_ ruined my walk!

I was about the leave the Owlry in a swirling hurricane of hate, when I saw something that caused the clouds to settle: Victoria's Potions book. Victoria's _Potions book!_ She must have accidentally left it here in her rush to leave…

The most glorious idea popped in my head.

Quickly, I took her book and performed the curse on it that was taught to me by Abel and Anna. If I performed it right, it would read _Die, pureblood_ to any pureblood that opened the book, but remain a normal Potion's book to anyone else to happened to stumble upon it. I only hoped that Victoria wasn't a pureblood.

When I was finished (which wasn't as difficult as the twins made it out to be) I quickly scribbled _Scorpius Malfoy_on the inside cover, snickering as I imagined the little snot opening his book only to find all his nightmares come to life.

_Ah, if only I could be there to see his face!_ I thought sadistically, cherishing the imagined scene in my mind as if it were gold.

Standing up, I took a deep breath and concentrated on Scorpius' real Potions book, mouthing the charm: _facio calculus_. If done right, his book would've been reduced to a simple piece of shale. Now, for the final step.

Grabbing the book, I rushed down the stairs after Victoria, skillfully painting a worried expression on my face.

"Victoria!" I called, using my acting skills to their fullest extent, "Victoria, wait!"

I caught up to her on the very last step, looking back at me with a face filled with confusion.

"What do you want?" she chided, clearly trying to sound uninterested, but couldn't help letting worry slip into her voice.

"You're friends with Scorpius, right?" I asked, as if I didn't know already.

"Uh, yeah?" it was more of a question than a statement, "What about it?"

"Here," I said bluntly, holding out the façade of a book, "It's his."

She eyed me with disbelief as she grabbed it from me, not saying a word. My heart quickly broke into a gallop as she opened the front cover, hoping, wishing, praying that she was—by some miraculous chance—_not _a pureblood.

And she wasn't. Thank Merlin, she wasn't!

As if she were frustrated that nothing ghastly emerged from its pages and ripped her face off, she slammed the book shut and tucked it roughly underneath her arms.

"'Kay. I'll take it to him, I guess," she mumbled, no amount of distrust leaving her glare.

"'Kay," I responded, trying to keep the grin of triumph from emerging on my face.

_I win_, I thought at her as she sulked away to Potions, _I most certainly do._

_

* * *

_

_Three Weeks Ago:_

_

* * *

_

"Hey, Rose, we heard about what happened to you today," Anna said, referring to her and her inseparable brother, "I'm sorry."

"Yeah, whatever," I moped, "that doesn't change what happened. The whole school practically knows by now."

Of course that would seem like an exaggeration to any passerby or doubting adult, but any teenager understands that once the word is out, the entire world of adolescents within a reasonable range will know within the next hour. I cringed as a group of 5th year Hufflepuffs walked by with prying eyes, pointing at me and snickering as they made poorly imitated cat noises.

"Ugh," I sighed with diminishing outlook on the whole of humanity, "my life sucks."

"Yeah, pretty much," Anna said, as if that was supposed to make me feel better.

"Your bedside manner is terrible," I pointed out, sinking lower and lower into the darkness of depression, "You just made my life suck just that much more."

"Listen," she whispered, leaning close to me with sudden urgency, "my sources tell me that it was Scorpius Malfoy that spilled that Transfiguration potion on you, am I right?"

"Your _sources?_" I laughed, taken aback by her cheesiness, "Your _sources?"_

She laughed with me a bit, and shook her head, scolding herself.

"Yeah, that was pretty bad wasn't it?" she chuckled, but her face once again hardened into an urgent seriousness that was a rare sight on the happy-go-lucky Anna, "But really, was it?"

My laughter quickly subsided.

"Yes, it was. Why do you want to know?"

"Do you want to get revenge on him?" she whispered harshly, not bothering to answer my question. I furrowed my brows in wariness.

"Of course," I said frankly, all the while my brain whirring feverishly in an attempt to understand what Anna was getting at, and why she was acting so strangely.

"Then come with me."

Anna stood up abruptly and walked quickly away without even looking back to see if I was following. My aching curiosity forced me to follow her, but I kept caution with me in my pocket, just in case.

"What are you talking about?" I demanded once I caught up with her, "Where are we going?"

"Just follow," was all she said in response, keeping her eyes straight ahead, unwavering as if she were focusing intently on something I could not see.

Suddenly, a giant door appeared out of nowhere, as if it were created just out Anna's will to make it happen. I ogled her in amazement.

"Wha—"

"The Room of Requirement," she grinned, as if that was supposed to explain the phenomena that just happened, "Cool, huh?"

I simply nodded in response, gaping in wonder like a drooling idiot.

"Come on," she gestured me to follow, and I went, obsession with understanding how the Room worked rapidly becoming the new meaning of my life.

Obsession faded just as rapidly when I saw what was inside: a room full of every type of person imaginable. Witches, wizards, vampires, werewolves, house elves, fairies, pixies, the well-to-do and the not-so-fortunate, all together in one buzzing atmosphere of acceptance, and a sense that it was a single interest that bound them together. What that interest was, however, baffled me.

"How…Why…What…?" I couldn't force all my questions out my mouth at the same time, leaving me virtually speechless. I felt uncannily helpless in my inability to voice every spectacle of wonder that amazed me. How could so many people fit in one room? Why were they all here? Why did they all seem so uniformly happy? So much to ask, but nothing to say. How unfortunate!

Anna chortled quietly in her husky, but somehow extremely pleasant voice, grinning charmingly at me as she noticed my childlike astonishment and wide-eyed curiosity.

"You'll understand it all soon enough," she assured me, patting me on the back in a very big-sisterly like manner, "Come on, I have to introduce you to someone."

Her first statement proved to comfort me, but the latter took me by surprise. Who was this person I was supposed to meet? And why did my episode with Mr. Pompous-Brat-Face have to do with this person? I mentally spewed my questions from my brain to whatever cosmic force could hear, hoping that some divine magic would answer and distill any qualms I might have. But no such divinity came. Instead, it was only emptiness inside the confines of my brain, and the low hum of chatter that reeled around me. I was excited, yet terrified at the same time. And what was more disturbing was that I did not understand why; what was there to be scared of? Why was I feeling this way? Why, why, why, why, WHY?

My questions only branched into more questions, so my only choice was to terminate them. I had to keep my mind empty, or I would explode—perhaps literally.

Anna led me to the far back of the room, where the ditty of conversation was reduced to only a distant bustle in the background, and where light that danced from the windows had difficultly roaming. I felt that I was being lead to my prison cell.

"Who exactly are we meeting?" I asked, finally able to voice my fears out loud. Anna only looked back at me with a half-smile.

"Someone," she answered cryptically, which was odd, because normally she was quite blunt. In my mental notebook, I was keeping track of all the odd things she had done today. By now, I was almost out of pages.

"We're here," she announced, though I quite clearly had no possible idea where "here" was. It was just a door. A very ordinary door, which would appear completely unthreatening under normal circumstances. However, in my situation, that door seemed to loom above me with ominous dread. I gulped.

"You want me to go in?"

Anna nodded.

"_Alone?_"

She laughed, but I didn't catch the joke.

"Well, that's not really necessary. I mean, I was _planning_ on going with you. But if you want to go alone, I guess it wouldn't hurt my feelings."

"No, no, please come with me!" I pleaded, though I had no possible idea what I was dreading. Besides, I thought Gryffindors were supposed to exhibit bravery? Right now, though, I was displaying no such talent for it.

"Okay, okay, sheesh! Freak out on me, will you?" She opened the door without any hesitation at all, "After you, my lady."

I obeyed. I walked slowly into the room, worry swimming excitedly in my gut, when I discovered that what the room contained was exactly the definition of pleasantness.

It was painted with a soothing coat of dusty bronze, linens hanging low from the ceiling that were dyed a gorgeous shade of red. Abstract paintings of nothing in particular ornamented the walls, though despite their nothingness, come across as meaningful in a way I could not explain. A large, wooden desk sat proudly in the far back of the room, enveloping the entire back wall, with the exception of a few inches at the ends. There, in the middle of the table, sat a beautiful woman.

She was sitting with her legs crossed, pale blue eyes scanning a horrendous pile of papers determinedly, her quill moving so fast it would seem she were fighting to save her life. Cream-colored tresses tumbled loosely down her back and framed her face in a way that seemed almost too perfect. I could only assume she used a spell to keep them in place. The whole scene seemed entirely _un_threatening, despite the stink of burning tobacco from the corner of her desk, where a smoldering cigarette butt sat diminishing into ash.

It took almost thirty seconds for her to notice my presence.

"Oh, hello!" she greeted me finally, with the sudden realization that I had been standing there for quite some time, "You must be Miss Rose Weasley."

I was shocked that she knew my name already, but I quickly determined that Anna must have told her already.

"Yes, of course," I said without any sign of my surprise, "And you are?"

"Only the head of this lovely organization," she winked, not quite answering my question, "It's called the Justice for Injustice, or JFI for short. You like it?"

"Oh, of course!" I answered enthusiastically, referring to the miracle of the Room's existence and the realization that this woman was anything but dreadful.

"And I assume you're here," she began, standing slowly from her desk and walking closer to me, putting a well-manicured hand on my shoulder, "because you would like to become a member?"

"Yes," I answered definitely, without the slightest idea what I was getting myself into, "I would love to."


	10. Keep Your Enemies Closer

**ALBUS**

Veritaserum proved my cousin innocent, but I don't believe any amount of fantastical wizard magic could ever restore my trust in her. As illogical as this may seem, there is something about trust that makes it impossible to find once you have lost it. Rose was quite honestly _not_ a murderer, but my sudden mistrust of her was enough to completely vaporize my regrets about letting Scorpius humiliate her in class a few weeks ago; she was an enemy.

Scorpius' thoughts, however, remained much more skeptical and consequentially more morbid than mine.

"Bloody whelp got away with it this time, but I'll catch her in the end. And then we could get her thrown into Azkaban, or worse—expelled!"

"You sound like my aunt," I said flatly, not addressing his plot in an attempt to distract him, "she's a weird nerd just like you."

"What the hell, Albus?" he snorted, clearly taken aback.

"Just tellin' it like it is."

"Well, I don't know what your problem is, Al," piped in Victoria, who was loudly munching on an apple while twirling her ebony curls at the same time, "your cousin is clearly a dangerous snob who would be better off having tea with Dementors. There's nothing wrong in admitting that. It's not like we're making family connections or anything."

"I don't trust my cousin," I professed, surprised at myself for actually voicing my thoughts as completely as they came, "but Veritaserum never lies. There's probably another side to the story that we don't know."

"Oh, for Merlin's sake, Al!" exclaimed my best friend, throwing up his arms as if in defeat, "Why do you always have to be the skeptic of _everything_? It's like you take the opposite side of everything I have to say just for the sake of being opposite."

"You do seem like that," agreed Vicky, finished with the apple and had now refocused her attention to picking her fingernails.

I frowned at both of them in defense of myself, but said nothing; they were probably right—as usual—and we all knew that it was my doubt in Scorpius in the first place that led us to this situation (although Victoria was not the one to blame).

"Look on the bright side," I nudged Scorpius the next day as he slumped his way to Defense Against the Dark Arts in a cloud of gloom, no doubt wondering what on earth could've been bright about the shadow of Aurors which were constantly escorting us, "think of all the attention and fame you'll get from all this publicity. Those 3rd year Ravenclaw girls have been eyeing you for at least four minutes now. Must think you're some kind of legend or something, with this kind of protection." –Referring, of course, to the blank-faced Auror with sufficiently dangerous muscles that loomed ahead of our every step.

Scorpius must have deemed that observation to be very bright indeed, as his glum demeanor promptly evaporated. (Victoria's glum demeanor however, wasn't—and possibly would _never be_—extinguished; it remained as attached to her as her own head.) The cloud of doom returned immediately however, once we realized that we shared our next class with my cousin, and that my father had stepped in as Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher while Professor Treamol was on "leave". There was not a doubt in my mind that constant nagging and constricting family expectations would be the content of the lesson today.

Scorpius, however, had a different view:

"Finally," he sneered, narrowing his eyes at my unsuspecting cousin who was busying herself with last-minute preparations before class, "Scorpius Malfoy's time to shine. If I can't get her thrown into Azkaban, I can at _least_ do the next best thing."

He left both Victoria and me in intended befuddled silence, in question of what that statement implied. Vicky, however, seemed to piece the puzzle together much quicker than I did.

"Pray, what exactly _do_ you mean," she cooed, her deliciously plump lips being thinned by the slow stretching of a vicious smile. I could tell she grinned only at the cruel intentions plastered all over Scorpius' threat.

Scorpius looked her directly into her dark, handsome eyes and boldly matched her simpering smirk.

"Humiliation."

As we took our seats together while my father made his way to the front of the class, I couldn't help but feel a resurfacing twinge of regret for my cousin-turned-enemy. Perhaps I could somehow find a way to create a truce for both sides, without inducing any deep-rooted hate? I doubt that Rose would fancy compromising or even conversing with me at this point, but I'm sure I could think of something—

"Welcome to Defense Against the Dark Arts, first years!" my father proclaimed, brewing up much annoyance in me as he had rudely awakened me from my thoughts, "I, as many of you know, am Harry Potter, and I will be your professor for the next few weeks."

"_Few weeks?" _Scorpius whispered harshly in my ear, worry entangled through every word, "Your dad is going to babysit me for a _few weeks?_"

"Apparently," I seethed, upset not at him but at the fact that my father had decided that Scorpius and I were perfectly incapable of fending for ourselves. While I deeply admired and cared for my dad, I could not help but feel a small portion of that love sinking coldly away from me.

"What's the big deal?" Victoria barked at Scorpius as quietly as she could, "You'd think you'd be happy that Al's dad is teaching this class, considering that you could definitely use the influence." She was referring to the fact that Scorpius' grade in this class was presently at a shameful Acceptable (terrible for him), and could use his friendship with me to gain favor with my father. Little did she know that my father was most likely impervious to such schemes.

"Oh, nevermind, Vicky," I dismissed quickly, pretending to be suddenly interested in the lesson, "I'll tell you later or something."

She gave a great defeated _humph_ as she crossed her arms and looked away, most likely intending to persuade me to tell her, but my mind remained elsewhere: it was whirring with scenarios of how exactly my friend was going to "humiliate" my cousin. _None_ of those scenarios ended well.

I was about to tap my friend on the shoulder and ask him precisely what his intentions were, when my father asked:

"Can anyone tell me what the _Protego_ charm is used for?"

Scorpius' hand shot as forcefully and quickly into the air as a lightning bolt, determined to be the first one to answer, but was thwarted only by my cousin's hand, which was coincidentally launched into the air at the exact same time. My father was startled by the sudden response and was clearly debating who to call on in his mind, but he eventually settled on Scorpius, no doubt because he had heard Rose flex her intelligent muscles far too many times before.

"Yes, Mr. Malfoy?"

"The _Protego_ charm—also known as the Shield Charm—creates a magical barrier that will deflect hexes thrown at the caster."

The look on my father's face was a cross between shock, confusion, and the dazed appearance of déjà vu. Clearly he had not expected Scorpius to possess any sort of intelligence. The truth was astounding to him.

"You are absolutely correct, Mr. Malfoy. Five points to Slytherin."

The entire Slytherin table immediately applauded with enthusiasm as Scorpius set his hand back down on his desk, his face sporting a newfound smugness as he gladly bathed in his brilliant success. The look on Rose's face however, remained much more grim; it was pained as if someone had just punched her in the stomach. I suddenly came to realize what Scorpius had planned to do today: beat my cousin at her own game.

"And can anyone tell me," continued my father, sauntering slowly away from the Slytherin table as the last of our classmates patted Scorpius on the back, "_why_ this is important—Yes, Miss Weasley?"

This time around he had completely ignored Scorpius' hand, even though it was in the air a full second before Rose's, who answered: "Because it is a vital, though simple charm which nearly all of us will find protects us at least sometime in our life."

"Perfect, Rose! Ten points to Gryffindor."

While the Gryffindor table was flaunting their obvious approval of this unfair advantage, both Scorpius and Vicky whispered harshly in unison: "_Ten?"_ I was quickly finding a little more room to be annoyed with my father.

"And can anyone tell me," began Harry Potter again, the emerging smirk on his face indicating he already knew who would answer, "what _Petrificus Tot—"_

"_Petrificus Totalus_ is a spell that freezes or petrifies the body of the victim, making it incapable of moving, except for the eyes and the breathing," blurted Scorpius, who despite himself, had his hand raised and was standing, as if this was so crucial to his survival as a student that it would've been a fate worse than death to let anyone else answer.

My father's smirk had matured into a full-blown smile, nodding with clear amusement as he said: "Again, correct. Fifteen points to Slytherin."

It suddenly dawned on me what exactly my father was doing: he was baiting them—both my cousin and my friend—for his own enjoyment. The two students affected however, remained steadfastly oblivious to this.

"What Mr. Malfoy _failed_ to state, Uncle, was that _Petrificus Totalus _is a spell broken by _Finite Incantatem, _a spell that causes easier ongoing spells and jinxes to sto—"

"Yes, Miss _Weasley,"_ Scorpius interrupted, clearly frustrated, "but you will find that your uncle never asked that question so your answer is evidently invalid—"

"Well, so? Who said there has to be a cap on knowledge—?"

"I didn't _say that_," Scorpius stressed, nearly hissing through his teeth as furious anger frothed to the surface, "but you are only arguing with me because you can't stand being wrong."

"Oh!" laughed Rose mockingly, taking offense, "Oh, and what are _you_ doing, Malfoy? Since when has been your job to prove everyone wrong?"

Rose and Scorpius were now both standing from their desks, glaring at each other with such hatred that I could nearly feel the heat of it radiating off them. My father, surprisingly, took no heed of their ongoing row and simply stood back with a smug grin that seemed not to fit the situation.

"I guess," Scorpius answered slowly after a few seconds silence, irate expression leisurely melting to his characteristic half-grin, "since bitty kitty wriggled out of a conviction for attempted _murder._"

The whole classroom went silent, as if plunged into the soundless vacuum of space. I could sense shock on the faces of every student, including mine; my father's amused expression was completely erased from his face. Even Rose was staring at Malfoy in stunned silence, her mouth half open as if frozen solid in the midst of saying something. She quickly gained composure however, and stated quietly: "It wasn't me."

"Oh, it wasn't, eh? Who could it have been, then? There was no one else around when the oxygen was ripped from the air. I suppose you were just in the _wrong place at the wrong time, _ then huh?"

"Oh, shut it, Malfoy! You know it wasn't me and you just want to place the blame on someone you hate! It's not my fault that people want to kill you for being the son of an arrogant, purist, _Death Eater_!"

"THAT'S ENOUGH!" bellowed my father at last, casting a jinx that caused both Scorpius and Rose to immediately cease their bickering. "I was _hoping_ you two would work it out on your own, but as you have taken far too much time from class today, I am requiring _both_ of you to make it up after class. And—better yet—I'm not going to remove the Silencing Jinx from you until after detention is completed. Enjoy the rest of class."

The common room was awfully lonely without Scorpius' snide comments later that day. I suspected he would be in detention for the rest of the evening with the way he acted, but I still couldn't help but feel as though my father had goaded him on. It was as if he were creating an excuse to get them both alone—

"What do you suppose that whole situation was about?" sighed Victoria, her eyes drooping as if she were creating conversation just to keep herself awake, "Your dad seemed to think it was pretty bleeding hilarious."

"Got no clue," I lied, looking away so Victoria couldn't see the worry in my eyes, "my dad's a pretty weird bloke, so I s'pose it makes sense."

"Mmm," Victoria replied, clearly unconvinced but much too tired to argue, "I bet that's it."

It then suddenly occurred to me that I was completely alone with her. There was no one around to foil anything, no Scorpius to laugh in my face. It was time.

"Hey, Vicky…" I started out, attempted to act casual but clearly failing, "I was wondering if—if you wanted to—well, that is maybe you could—"

This was not going well. Victoria glanced up from her half-eaten apple, eyes twinkling with interest.

"Yes," she grinned, "go on."

"Well, I was wondering…" I was about to spit it out when I noticed something wet and red glistening on the front of her robes.

"Vicky is that blood on your robes?"

She was clearly taken aback.

"Wha—_what?_"

"Are you okay? I mean it looks like you've got blood dripping down your robes. Did you get cut or something?"

Vicky's eyes flashed with something that looked like panic. She looked down at her robes, not saying a word. After an awkward few seconds of silence, Vicky chuckled hoarsely.

"Oh!" she laughed, seemingly forcefully, wiping off the sticky blood, "That's just—Oh, well, how the story goes is that I was walking down the steps to the Owlry when a girl runs up the steps in a horrid rush. Of course she trips and hits the edge of the steps with her nose and blood flies everywhere. She had to go to the hospital wing, and I guess I just forgot to clean off my robes. It's pretty gross, I know."

"Really?" I asked, though unconvinced. Vicky simply nodded and returned hastily back to her apple, the air suddenly feeling thick with discomfort. Despite the innocent question, I felt that it was something I just shouldn't have asked. She was lying of course, but I didn't have the slightest clue what for.

"Worst. Day. Ever," came a familiar voice from behind me. Victoria and I both jumped in our seats as Scorpius fell exhaustedly into the chair next to me. "You'll never guess what happened."

"What?" Vicky and I both asked at once.

With a sigh, Scorpius spat, "Your loony dad's making your cousin and I go to all our classes together, '_no questions asked.'_ What the bloody hell are we doing that for? It's like he wants me to die, the git."

"Wow, you do have a suspicious family, Al. I'm starting to have second thoughts about evil being assigned only to your cousin," snorted Vicky.

"There has to be a reason for his actions other than that," I protested, angry that my friends were continually discrediting my family's integrity.

"Yeah, maybe he just wants to see me swim in agony. Death would be too quick."

"Oh shut it, Scorps, really!" I groaned.

"Well, then what's your extraordinary idea?"

I glared at him, frustration seeping from my pores, wanting to choke him with all my might. I was about to answer very spitefully "I don't know", when it abruptly occurred to me.

"You know the expression, 'keep your friends close and your enemies closer?'"

Scorpius and Vicky both nodded.

"Well, maybe he wants you to keep Rose close to you so you're safer. So she can't sneak up on you."

"Aw, see, now that's a brilliant idea, Al!" exclaimed Scorps, genuinely impressed. Whether your old pop intended that or not, we could still use it. We just have to make sure she's just not close enough to kill me."

The disturbing thing was, despite my friends' enthusiasm about my idea, was that I seriously doubted my father had the same one. His plans were sure to be different. Much, much different.


	11. Suspicion

**CHAPTER ELEVEN**

I really had no idea what I was doing.

Odd, because such a thing never particularly bothered me much. I had dealt with not knowing where my convoluted mess of a life was taking me for years—battling Voldemort had made me an expert of accepting confusion.

But this was not like Voldemort. This was some phantom demon I could not see, could not hear, could not touch. I did not even know if the demon was real, or simply my overactive imagination. And worse, I did not know if this demon held my niece or not.

I had thought that Ron would've been more worried about his daughter's supposed criminal acts, but he uncharacteristically remained calm in the face of it all. Hermione, however, very characteristically fretted endlessly over it.

I suspected Ron was only calm simply because he didn't believe his daughter's stories at all. He truly believed she had tried to hurt Malfoy's son, which made him inwardly happy. Needless to say, I harangued him on his poor parenting skills only slightly less than Hermione did.

But I was sick of these ancient family feuds. I still am, but then especially, hearing what Rose could have done to Scorpius Malfoy made my heart sick. It spat in the face of what I had fought for—what her _parents _had fought for—to provide a world she could live in. It cursed the change we were trying to make, the acceptance and unity we had been trying to bring to the wizarding world for years. The fact that Rose targeted Scorpius for his father's crimes blatantly stated that those ancient prejudices had not been washed away, but simply masked.

So I forced them to be together. I cast a spell which made them physically incapable of being more than 5 feet away from each other during their classes. Sure it was cruel. Sure it was an invasion of their privacy. But in all honesty I couldn't really care less. I would force them to get along. I did not want to see our children bicker and fight over problems they were not even alive to see.

But like I said, I still had no idea what I was doing. I was assigned to Hogwarts to protect Malfoy's son, but I didn't have the faintest idea from whom or from what. Unfortunately the only suspect we had at the moment was Rose, and the evidence did not rule too well in her favor. I had reasoned that my spelling Rose and Scorpius together would make it easier for me to keep track of any suspicious activity, but I had an odd feeling that such a thing would only endanger them both. I had no idea why I felt that way.

I sighed, feeling rather defeated as I walked glumly down the hall. I missed this place. So dearly did I wish to be a student in Hogwarts again, filled with childlike wonder with the grand newness of it. Even the dark times, the ugly times, the war times—even those I remembered with painful longing. Those were the times where everything seemed to make sense. Maybe not initially, but in the grand scheme of things I knew ultimately where my life would take me. I knew who my friends were. I knew who my enemies were. And I still had a driving, fiery passion for purpose.

But where was that purpose now?

The dark, empty halls echoed back the _click, click_ of my shoes against the stone floor. I stopped, staring reminiscently up into the towering ceiling above, haunted by the ghosts of fleeting memories. Fond memories. Sad memories. Good memories. Bad memories.

I ached to be a child again.

I ached for the friends I had lost. I ached for happiness this place had once brought me, the purpose it drove in me.

I longed to taste the past again.

"So, where'd you go?"

I whipped around in such a rush I nearly tripped on my robes. I blinked in confusion as I stared back at Malfoy's wife.

"I'm…I'm sorry," I stammered, trying to remember her name, "what?"

Her pale pink lips stretched into a small smile.

"Your mind was off somewhere else. Where'd you go?"

"Oh," I said dumbly, still confused and rather annoyed at her intrusion, "I guess I went back in time for a while."

"Ah," she nodded knowingly, "that's a place we all wish to visit. I sometimes catch myself longing for it as well." She gave me a sidelong glance from her cool-blue eyes. "And what is it _you _long for, Mr. Potter?"

I suddenly wanted her gone.

"Is there a reason you're here, Mrs. Malfoy?" I sighed, having little patience for her meandering small talk.

"Why, not at all, just strolling through the halls like you."

I didn't believe her.

An awkward silence ensued as we both debated if anything else should be said. Finally, I decided against it.

"Well, it was nice chatting with you… ah…"

"Astoria."

"Astoria…but I must be going now."

She caught my arm as I began to walk away, an urgency in her well-manicured grip.

"You cannot fight this forever, you know."

I frowned at her. "What?"

"You will have to make a move sometime, Potter. Like it or not, your niece is in the middle of something she shouldn't be. If you will refuse to protect my son, then I will do anything in my power to protect him. And that means getting you out of the way first. Are we clear on this?"

I stared at her, feeling confused and angry at the same time.

"Who the hell do you think you are? And how would _you_ know what my niece is up to, _Astoria_?"

A tiny, quizzical smile graced her lips.

"Oh, I have a hunch I guess."

I wrenched my arm from her grip. "You know what? Maybe I should just go away and leave your son to the vultures, huh? I'm sure that would just be easier for everyone."

Astoria glared icy daggers at me.

"I didn't even have to accept this project," I continued, "I did it because I felt like it was the right thing to do. To… I don't know, make up for my past rivalry with your husband? You come at me like I'm not trying to do my job, but I'm doing all I can! Why are you acting like this?"

"Because your niece is trying to kill my son!"

"No, no she di—"

"I SAW HER!"

My heart stopped cold.

"Wha—_what?"_

"My son stormed off when you and Draco were talking, so I followed him. I was still far away, but could see that he bumped into your niece. She said something cruel to him, like 'what are you doing without your friends?', and they got into an argument. Rose stormed off, but then turned back and said something like 'you'll get what's coming for you soon,' and then he suddenly started choking! Your niece _had _to have done something! There was literally no one else around!"

At first I was shocked, trying desperately to unscramble my jarred emotions, but then something struck me. Something very odd.

"So you're telling me that you just stood there and watched while your son was choking to death?"

She seemed taken aback by my question. "Wha—_what?_ No! Of course not! I—I don't know, I guess I didn't know what to do. I just… ran off to get help. But by the time I found someone, the whole incident was over."

I stared at her. "What kind of mother _are_ you?"

She blinked. "Excuse me?"

"You would run away while your son was _dying_? You wouldn't at least go to him? Try and figure out what was happening?"

"Look!" she exclaimed, "Do you think I'm stupid? I knew there was nothing I could do! I've never seen any hex like that before!"

"How on _earth_ would you have figured it was a hex by that time? Wouldn't you instinctively go to him? It could've been anything!"

Astoria shook her blonde head in frustration. "No—I don't know, I—I don't… no! The way your niece looked, I figured it _had_ to be a hex! So I ran!"

"You wouldn't go—"

"No! No, I guess I wouldn't. I guess I'm a terrible mother. I guess I have a heart of stone. I don't know what happened or why I did it. I just did."

I said nothing. I couldn't. The silence allowed me to hear my jumbled thoughts—my rattled emotions. It couldn't be Rosie… could it? I started at my feet, numb.

"Well," Astoria finally whispered timidly, "I guess that's it then."

I didn't look up as she walked off, listening until the _click_ of her stilettos evaporated into nothingness.

I felt sick.

I felt angry.

I felt so immensely betrayed.

Why Rosie? Why?

Why, why, _why?_

But… Astoria's story…

Suddenly, it all clicked for me.

_No one else was around_, she had said. No one else but _her._

I looked up, a newfound determination etched into my face. I finally had a new suspect:

Astoria Malfoy.


	12. Searching for Clues

**SCORPIUS**

"I need to go to the Owlery," she said as we made our way to the Great Hall. I pretended not to hear her.

"Scorpius," she stressed again, "stop. I need to go to the Owlery." Instead of acknowledging her request, I waved heartily to Al who was merrily attacking a piece of bacon. Victoria sat beside him, laughing.

Rose halted. "Malfoy, I'm not going any farther until you go to the Owlery with me."

I whirled around, annoyed. "Why on earth do you want to go to the freaking _Owlery?_ It's eight in the morning, you dolt."

"Because I want to," she said, crossing her arms. Despite her matter-of-factness, I could tell she was inwardly cherishing my frustration.

"That's not a reason!" I exclaimed.

"Sure it is. Why do you want to stay in the Great Hall so bad?"

"Because I'm hungry, why do you think?"

"That's not a reason."

"YES. YES IT IS."

Despite our ongoing row, the other students in the Great Hall paid no heed to it. By now it was as common an occurrence for Scorpius Malfoy and Rose Weasley to argue as it was for the sun to rise. It was simply a part of life.

After a good five minutes of nonsensical, back-and-forth bickering, I put my foot down and glared at her. "You know what?" I said in a defiant tone, "I don't care what you do. If you decide to walk away, we both know you won't get very far."

Al's father had hexed the both of us about a week ago. When it first happened, we both thought we could get away with going more than five feet away from each other. We were gravely wrong. Initially, we had even periodically forgotten about the hex and stormed away from each other after the expected squabbling. As a consequence, we would both come crashing into each other at blinding speeds. Needless to say, I was still getting over my sore back and bruised limbs.

Rose tossed her curls of red hair with a defeated sigh. "Alright," she said with a huff, the words clearly hurting her to say, "why don't you get something to eat _quickly_ and _then_ we can go to the Owlery, 'kay?"

I nodded my agreement as we went to sit at our separate tables, backs to each other.

The compromises were slowly becoming quicker for us to make. Initially, it had been nearly impossible for us to get the simplest things done. The first couple days I could barely make it to the water closet without wetting myself because of Rose's stubbornness. She would often walk to the men's room with me, stop, pretend to reconsider something in her mind, and then promptly sit on the ground, twiddling her thumbs. Any attempt I made to get to the toilet was thwarted by the hex, and I would sail quickly back to Rose's smug grin. Despite the pain she endured by my crashing backwards into her again and again, she remained cross-legged on the floor until I begged her repeatedly to allow me to go. Sometimes it even took having to promise her money.

Her little game stopped after I took to doing the same thing to her.

Regardless of our compromises, life remained steadfastly difficult with her constantly mooning over my shoulder. While it was a relief that the hex didn't apply while I was in my Common Room (or in separate classes), if I wanted to get out at all, Rose had to come with me. I began to dread leaving Common Room so intensely that I practically had nightmares about it. It's a wonder I didn't break all my bones, with the way we slammed into each other as soon as we were both in the hallway.

It was also a relief that we didn't have every class together… at least at first. By some horrible stroke of fate, the schedules suddenly and mysteriously changed so that Gryffindor and Slytherin First Years shared all their core classes together. I somehow doubted that it was any kind of coincidence.

I ate as slowly as I could get away with.

Al, who was currently making an action figure out of an apple and pretzel sticks, looked up from his creation and lifted an eyebrow. "So what was that all about?" he asked.

I shrugged. "Oh, your cousin is just being her annoying self again. Can't expect her to be any different." I knew full well that she could hear me.

Al regarded me with a curious expression before he changed the subject. "So, you're going to the Owlery then, huh?"

I shrugged again. "I guess I have to. Kitty isn't giving me much of a choice, is she?"

I felt a sharp jab of pain in my back as Rose, hearing the cruel nickname, kneed me. I cursed at her under my breath.

Al, not looking up from his apple action figure, sighed. "You know," he said, "I think you're making a bigger deal out of this than it needs to be."

I regarded him with contempt. "What on earth are you babbling about?"

"I mean that… if Rose wants to go to the Owlery, why don't you just go? It's not like you're making it easier for yourself by arguing and calling her names."

I snorted with disdain for his treachery. "Whose side are you on anyway, Al? That snake tried to murder me!"

From behind me, Rose laughed scornfully. "You're still convinced at that, are you? Even when Vertisserum proved me right? You sure are sure of yourself, Malfoy. How do you go through life with such divine certainty?"

"Oh shut up," I spat, without bothering to turn around, "Go talk to your stupid Gryffindor friends… oh that's right! _You don't have any!_"

A fork promptly flew my direction. "You stupid pureblood asshole! Shut up! You don't know anything!"

I turned in mock revelation to Vicky. "Wow, looks like I've hit a soft spot."

I heard Rose simply grumble incoherent curses behind me before turning around to nibble on a stick of celery.

While Vicky snickered at my joke, Al looked at me with a sad expression on his face.

"I really think you should let this go, Scor," he said, "If anything, at least until my dad releases the hex from you. You're just going to stay like that until you start to get along."

"You know, that's all sweet and dandy, Al," I said cuttingly, "and it might even work, but that's something you should tell your bloodthirsty cousin, not me."

My friend just sighed as he got up from the table.

"You should get going," he said, "Class starts in about thirty minutes."

* * *

"So why did you want to come up here, anyway?" I asked finally, after enduring a long trip up to the Owlery in silence.

Rose looked at me as if I had just asked her to spill her most guarded secrets.

"You're sending a letter?" I mused, figuring I could make a game of it.

Rose shook her head.

"You're waiting for a letter?"

"No."

"You're waiting for a gift?"

"No."

"You fancy the aroma of a filthy bird cage?"

"You know how owls have been disappearing?" she said finally, as if she couldn't contain herself any longer.

I nodded.

"Well mine disappeared too. I just want to get to the bottom of it."

"And you plan to do that fifteen minutes before class starts? Come on, it'll take us at least ten to get there. We should probably leave now."

"Aww, is ickle baby Malfoy afwaid to miss some cwass?" she teased.

I crossed my arms with an irritated harrumph. "So you're telling me, that despite being a bossy know-it-all—fussing with extra credit projects and answering every question in class and whatnot—_you-_you of _all people_—would want to skip class? Over a silly owl? Merlin's pants, I must be dreaming."

Rose stared at me with her nose wrinkled, as if she wanted to slap me.

"I finished today's lesson in advance," she barked, "Have you?"

Her mocking question was meant as a challenge.

I shrugged in pretend disinterest. "I suppose I have, too. I was bored last night."

Rose looked as if she didn't believe me, but chose not to say so.

"Besides," she continued, changing the subject, "there's nobody around this time of day. Everyone's in class."

"No kidding," I mumbled cynically under my breath, wanting to get back to Charms.

"Didn't your owl go missing about a month ago?" she asked, ignoring my last comment.

My ears perked up. "Dragonbreath? Yeah, yeah I guess he did. Call me cruel, but I sort of forgot about it."

Rose lifted an eyebrow. "You mean you didn't even bother to get a new one?"

"No," I said slowly, just realizing this bit of information myself, "No I guess I didn't."

Rose said nothing for a while, studying me as if she were trying to find the answers to her unspoken questions on my face.

Finally, she said, "And has Al's owl gone missing?"

"No."

"Victoria's?"

"No…" I furrowed my brow in suspicion, "Look, if you think that Al or Vic had something to do with this—"

"That's not what I was getting at, stupid. I'm just trying to find a connection with whose owl has gone missing and whose hasn't."

I crossed my arms, bored. "And we had to come to the Owlery to figure this out…why?"

A mischievous smile bloomed on her lips. "Why, for some adventure, of course!"

I could only gape at her dumbly.

"Now, come on," she continued, cherishing my annoyance and horror, "let's see if we can find a clue or something."

I could contain myself no longer. "Do you think this is some kind of game? Blimey, Rose, it's not like this is a giant game of Cluedo."

She whirled back at me with a quizzical look on her brow. "How do you know about that game? It's a Muggle board game, not anything you _purebloods_ would take interest in."

She acted as though my blood-status proved that I had no right to meddle with _Muggle_ matters. I frowned. "Alright, so there's a Muggle family that lives a few blocks away from us," I explained heatedly, "They were having a yard sale and I just looked through their things. I didn't have any Muggle money but they told me I could just have the game, so I took it. Even though it's not magical, it's still interesting to look at."

Rose was now the one who was gaping at me.

"What?" I fumed, "Look, just… just don't tell my dad okay? He'd likely slap me cold if he found out I was messing around with Muggle stuff."

"No, no," she said quietly, as though she was sorry for being cross with me, "it's just that I had thought…" She trailed off, not knowing what to say or how to say it. She gazed at me with a curious, sad expression on her face, and for a fleeting, tiny moment, a flicker of regret flashed behind her eyes. There was an instant where I thought she might even break down and cry, but instead she shook her head and said in a more determined voice, "We should look around and see what we can find."

I remained unconditionally baffled at why a board game would affect her that way.

* * *

"Hm," Rose pondered as she went through the bird cages, "that's interesting."

I looked up from the cage I was snooping in, wondering how on earth we would figure if the bird was missing or just out. "What's that?"

"Porsha Plane's owl is missing."

I gave her a condescending look. "Now, Weasley, really. How would you know that?"

"The food in its cage is rotten."

"So?" I contested, "Her bird could be out delivering a letter. Besides, owls know how to hunt and wouldn't need to keep food in the cage."

"Exactly," she answered cryptically, her eyes not leaving the cage.

I frowned, confused. "I'm failing to understand your logic here."

"An owl catches its own food," she said, pointing to the decomposing rodent in the corner of the cage, "so why wouldn't it eat it right away? If it were going on a journey, it would first eat its food, then leave. Animals aren't known to waste like people do."

For once in my life, I could say that Rose Weasley actually made some kind of sense. But I wasn't about to let her know.

"Okay, so what? We won't be able to do that to every single cage. Not every missing bird will have left a dead rat there."

"We won't have to," she said quietly, as if she were just realizing what her own words meant.

I frowned at her.

"Think about it," she continued in answer to my suspicion, "Think about whose owls have gone missing."

"Um…mine?" I began slowly, trying to remember who else's have disappeared, "yours, Porsha's…" My eyes went wide. I could almost feel the light bulb appear above my head. I knew.

"What are you kids doing up here?"

Rose and I whirled around with a scream. I was so shocked by who I saw I nearly fainted.

"M…Mother?"

"Easy, easy, kids," she laughed nervously, "I, uh… I thought you were supposed to be in class."

"Well, uh…yeah…" I choked out, frantically searching for an excuse, "We… Well we finished our lesson early so we don't have to be in Charms today."

I glanced over at Rose so she could confirm the story, but she was instead staring at my mother with an odd look on her face.

"Oh, hello," Mother said in response to Rose's ogling, ignoring my answer, "I don't believe we've met."

"Oh, Rose," she said, offering her hand, her strange look still etched in her face, "Rose Weasley."

My mother shook it with a forced grin, "Astoria Malfoy. Nice to meet you."

"Mum, what are you doing up here?" I asked. It sounded almost accusatory.

She seemed taken aback with my forwardness. "Well, I was…sending a letter. Why else would I be up here?"

I couldn't put my finger on it, but my mother seemed shaken by something. Her eyes were flitting about the room as if she were expecting something terrible to happen. I frowned.

"Mum, are you alright?"

"Yes, yes of course," she answered halfheartedly, as if she barely heard me. "Well, I suppose I'd better get going. Nice to meet you, Rose."

She walked off without another word.

Rose and I watched her leave in silence, leaving each other to our baffled thoughts.

Finally, I said, "Well, that was weird."

"No kidding," answered Rose, who oddly enough still harbored that strange look in her eyes.

I raised an eyebrow at her, "Hey, are you alright?"

"Malfoy," she said, ignoring me, "I think I've met that woman before."

"No, you haven't," I insisted, "Even she didn't remember you."

"I know, but…I can't place my finger on it. I know I've met that woman before, but I have no idea where."

"Well, great. Can we move on, please? It seems like we have bigger problems here."

Weasley didn't need an explanation to know what I was talking about. We had both figured out how the missing owls were connected: they all belonged to targeted people.

I had nearly been suffocated to death.

Porsha's father had been murdered, and now she is getting death threats too.

Ama Lovebody and the other purebloods have been receiving strange messages in their bedrooms.

And Rose? Well Rose hadn't been getting death threats, but everyone assumed she was part of something she shouldn't be. And we were now both fairly certain that she was.

_**

* * *

Hello, Marshmallow Moo, here. If you happen to enjoy my story here, I would appreciate it if I had some feedback! Reviews are a good way any writer can figure out what her audience is thinking, and it's also a nice confidence booster. :) Even if you don't have an account here, please feel free to give me your opinion. Any comments at all are greatly appreciated. Thank you!**_


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